I am feeling a bit better which is good since I have a challenging week ahead of me. The melancholy of Sunday, endless endings of time on a small scale. I want to do this and this and well it is evening already and the hours are gone. Today I am a much better painter then yesterday and tomorrow I will be even better. I keep working not minding so much the necessary radical shifts I have needed to overcome stiffness and dull areas of my paintings. I almost revel in the destruction of it and am not attached to my unsuccessful attempts. They are lifeless and I am longing for life. I will not mourn the inevitable I have decided. The ending of days has equaled one less day of time. One moment less before the ending I worry is coming. Such an ending but can it be a new start? I will still carry this persistent tight ball of hope that at times makes me believe with such a childlike intensity in things. I believe in this thing, I do despite every reason not too. I just plain do and I cannot say why or stop it. I have given up trying to stop it, it just is. I hate goodbyes and I just do not want to say that to him ever. So here is to hope, twilight times, and little musical brown creepers who dance in my eyes.