The reality is no one reads this thing.
:o, jeez, i might as well write in my journal!", i said to myself  But isn't it just the lure of the audience that the artist yearns for and certainly there has been a grand testimony to that, since the internet.  It's fabulous.  The art, the video art, the new writing, the old, music that swings (Tab Benoit) and music that sings (Etta James).  The musician and the actor are affected and effected by this constant affirmation of their art (after EVERY performance!!)  But writers?  Artists?  It might take a lifetime and you might be dead before they discover your special brand of brilliance and insight!!!!hahahahaha

My lesson from today was "you're a sick puppy, lady and you better get your act together or they're going to throw you into the loony bin.  Hmmmm.  Yes,  "you've got yourself into quite a kettle" - my doctor said!!  which got me thinking about the definition of RECOVERY!  What  the hell is it, then?  Is it the ability to be happy and cut your meat properly and pay your bills on time and drive and smile, smile, smile.  O, I really was angry this a.m. and i let the world know it.  I'd had it.  And then the email from the lawyer guy.  I have to learn to live with other options, that's ok. 

Well, these personal things aside, i am experiencing a prolonged sense of discontinuity - of not being attached.  It's a bit depressing, actually.  I miss my house on Victoria, which was ripped from, my sheepdog torn from me and some of my precious little family treasures kept along the years lost in the shuffle.  A teddy I'd had for ages and ages.  My parents died twenty-five years ago and my brother twenty years - things get boiled down to photographs and old birthday cards.   

If i hear there's a rat in the cupboard, mind you, ha!, I'll find it!   It's just there's something wrong that went down and i'm trying to isolate what it was and what was it composed of and how come i got the short end of the stick.  Again.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph - I'm like a magnet for drama.  I'm so tired.

Now i have to go to some insipid but kindly, older lady.  I don't think we match but she's a lovely older woman.  I don't know - i'm being right up front with her, though.  For me - talk therapy doesn't work.  I feel like talking about myself about as much as i'd like an iron pot 'on side o' my head'!!.  I know all the antidotes - i used to spew them out, day after day, my whole career. I just don't see the value of them anymore.  She wants me to design the therapy, so perhaps i'll i do something psycho-dramatic.  It could be cool.  
signing off,
Inspector heather