One Down

I finished filling all the pages of my first artist's journal. That means I spent a lot of time in the past few weeks waiting for pages to dry.

I kept meaning to go back to bed today. Eyes sore and burning. Stomach a bit off-kilter. Back on the unfriendly side of achy. Head swimming. But I never managed to do it. I'm impossible that way. My upstairs neighbor was playing Prince's Diamonds and Pearls album at an unbelievable volume up until just a few minutes ago. And apparently -- ironically -- he felt the need to talk over it, as well. In a way, it is a blessing that I seldom seek out slumber. He would turn me into a raving madwoman if the opposite were true. Why can't deadbeat musicians who are living off their girlfriends also keep regular hours?

Every day, I want more than I get.