I wish I didn't get so sad so much. Sadness is the base emotion. The predominate emotion is disillusion.

Sometimes I really hate being an artist.

Well, the good news is it's hard to stay cynical when I make a beautiful object. The very act of painting is peaceful. It is so ephemeral.

And life is not so bad. It is certainly nothing I wanted, but it is not bad.

Basically, I'm aging. Not really sure who I'm turning into. It is stoic on the outside, numb and disappointed on the inside.

I keep busy with art literature, art magazines, art theory, art websites. It is good to be obsessed. I could benefit from a bigger social life.

So for the past 2 months I've dived back into art events, almost every week. These are my people. I am making friends with people who I understand.

Working in a bumfuck town doesn't help. Being married to a sweetheart who essentially is off is not great.

There's a lot of imperfections. But for godsakes I've done well. This post-foreclosure, post-tragedy, post-cheated on and abused artist has resurfaced.

I paint great. I've amassed for my income an admirable savings. I'm responsible and grounded. I am great in bed. My health is uncannily pure, my skin remarkably beautiful.

I am still struggling to figure out how to get my paintings marketed. Ultimately, I would like to use my paintings as a vehicle to propel myself out of banality.

As it stands, painting is practically the only interesting thing in my life.