I left Will. He is very nice. But I can't be with him.

I am needy of art-making. Again, I've arrived at a place of somewhat disillusionment. I am not an artist who thrives on depression. Or in this case, transition.

I do know I am pretending to be a gay hooker. I am channeling my inner-tramp for very "hard" work.

But I know my place is pretty. I miss painting lovely things.

I have 20 pieces ready for a show in September. I am pleased with my progress as a prolific painter.

None of them are marketable, however. Hard experiments? I doubt there's a very large audience.

I'm still going to New York next year. First thing I have to do is get a job to make money to save for this business opportunity. Two months I am subletting.

I have no motivation to try to get a job, besides this.

So I am unemployed and separated from my husband! I have nothing more to bemoan. I DO have the opportunity to sit with my thoughts and PROCESS.

Found an old box of my photos. I have always been a gay hooker.

I understand that I am much more intensely magnetic than I'm willing to share. In fact, I don't share. Everyone is missing out.

Well, I am very sad. Do you know how bad it hurts to know you are powerful and to not even share it??

I have wasted a lot of time.

Yes, I am god's gift to the world, but I have hoarded it. Piling up, dusty, with fungus.

I wish I had the courage to be myself.

All my energy is pushed right now on overcoming modesty. I originally thought it was about my body.

But really, I realize it is about my character. I shroud it like some diligent Muslim.

But I'm a California girl. I wear a push-up bra. I can talk to you about "Ulysses". I am in skin-tight jeans. I can eat your ass. And I can out-do anyone in the charm department.

Please. I am begging myself. Just enjoy your fucking self.