talk talk talk

I need some advice from my faithful readers...all three of you. I'm a 47 year old boy with illusions of perpetual youth but, in this particular poker game the cards are permanently stacked against me. Recently, as you all know if you've read my blog, I've made great strides in reversing the ravages of disease and time and I think I really DO look and feel better. The diet is hard to maintain but I'm doing my best, and going to the gym is still one of my favorite things to do...and I've got the sore (yet bigger) muscles to show for it! I even can fit into my size 34 slacks! (Okay...it's a bit of a squeeze, but I can do it! Next stop, size 33!!!!)

Another factor is that stress is taking its toll. And the cause of this stress is a 3 letter word: J - O - B. (More later on my theory of 3 letter words.) Aside from the built in stress of working at a computer help desk for a hospital where doctors, nurses and assorted medical technicians and support persons, all with either inflated egos or an inbred inability to follow instructions (all to often, both,) who constantly call with a chip the size of Texas on their shoulder, there is the fact that I am forced to dress uncomfortably in my work. If I were going out on the town or in the public eye, wearing the whole shirt and tie thing wouldn't be so bad. Given the budget, I'd love to have some nice suits and could pull off the look pretty easily. That usually translates into comments like, "You clean up real good!" And actually, I shower daily. But, I sit in an office cubicle. The only time I'm seen is when arriving or departing the workplace, when I go to the lounge area for coffee (or tea) and when I go to the bathroom. Otherwise, I'm at a desk with a phone headset surgically attached to one ear. Why to I have to dress up? So, I'm stressed (underpaid/overworked/unhappy) and uncomfortable. I don't want to live the rest of my life like this!

My house is getting completely out of control. I'm rapidly getting behind in repairs and I'm afraid that there will be so much damage in the near future that the cost of just getting it into saleable shape will be astronomical. It may already be there. I've decided to sell the monster, but that puts me in a position of having to do more prep work, both financial, which is bad enough, and physical, getting the place presentable and unloading the mass of stuff I have collected.

Once free of that load I would have gained a certain amount of freedom again, though any hope of a nestegg would be gone. I have no savings to speak of and don't make enough money to put some away and pay necessary bills. Of course, the biggest chunk aside from mortgage payments is medication. Starting in January, my med bill will be increasing by about 5% - may not seem like a lot, but considering the size of the bill NOW, it actually IS a lot of money. Mortgage (or Rent) + Meds + Basic Needs > Income.

Ideally, I would find a high paying job that allows me to dress casually and has a great medical insurance package - and it would be local. That isn't going to happen. And that's trying to be realistic. Yet, and this is a central point, I have long been a believer in the concept that we make our own reality and following one's dreams is a realistic thing to do - "follow your bliss...." But letting go of so much security (such as medical insurance) is overwhelmingly frightening and actually quite dangerous. So, what do I do?

My "bliss" is writing and painting. Am I good enough to make it in that highly competitive and sparsely populated world? Is it possible? That would be for the public to decide.

I do understand that it would require me to get out and "push the product." How do I do that? Should I relocate? Should I try to do this? Do I know what this really means?

I feel inadequate and insecure.

Paintings

I was able to get the paintings done for installation at Boone County Hospital. The pictures are good. I'm not sure how much farther I can go with the landscape idea that has been filling canvases lately, but I know that there are still plenty of paintings of one type or another inside me.

The work involved with the transport of the paintings and their hanging is kind of a drag for me. It would be easier if I had a truck or at least a larger vehicle than a Toyota sedan to move them in, but once the pictures were on the wall, people started commenting on them. I was being asked the standard questions: "Are you the artist?" "How long have you been painting?" "What's your inspiration?" "Do you sell any of your paintings?"

Oddly enough, I love talking to the people about my pictures. I suppose because it is talking about myself. Like a good self centered artist, I love talking about myself.

Regarding the AIDS benefit that I was to participate in, well, that was a bust. I think it is indicative of the administrative skills of the people in charge of the distribution of Federal and State funds for HIV infected persons in Central Missouri that were at the center of the problem. I requested information on donating a painting for the auction and how I would be able to help. About a week before the date I had been told was the auction and exhibition, I finally receive an email asking for a Bio and a picture of the painting I was going to donate. I emailed back for more information and then got an emailed invitation to the event - the day that the exhibition began. So, no painting donated, no paintings exhibited. And I thought they would JUMP at the chance to have "one of their own" on display!

The Visitor

I met someone online who, after just a few days tentative chatting disclosed that he was preparing to move across the country back to where his family lived. It took very little to convince him to make a stop here. The conversations were lucid, endearing and we both wondered out loud if it meant anything in particular.

After an eventful roadtrip, he arrived near penniless (because of repair costs) and tired. More handsome than I had anticipated and I, for my part, felt a connection. I knew quickly, though, that the feeling was not mutual. I didn't seem to click for him.

I did my best to be the best host I knew how, he was the perfect guest, and our short visit was accepted for what it was like two mature beings. No magic, no fireworks, just two guys that had experienced enough of the workings of the heat, the head and the heart to appreciate the ways of the universe.

After he left, I did feel a bit sad, and Max had taken a special liking to him. I received word from him just the other day that his health has taken a bad turn. My caretaker instinct wanted to kick in, but I knew that he was in the warm and caring hands of his family.

Apologies

There are plenty of reasons for my laps in posting, but I'll spare you the list. Instead, let me present you with some quick posts that will fill you in on the events that kept me from my keyboard.

Of course, these will show up in reverse order...good god...how confusing. The chronicle will read like Merlin's backward life ala The Once and Future King.