Guarantee-Shmuarantee ...

I wish life had a manufacturer's guarantee because despite all the words of caution from my parents and older siblings, I am forging ahead in my life as an artist. The image of "the starving artist" has been thoroughly illustrated for me by nay-sayers and our history books are thick with the life stories of creative individuals whose talented minds have fizzled out due to drugs, depression, and self-doubt. I, however, continue my stride against life's buffeting winds because if I don't my head just might explode. The desire to be creative and use my powers for good--and not evil--move me to hold my head high and boldly follow my dreams.

Growing up

Lately, I cannot look at pictures of my younger years. A swollen, tightening feeling crawls up my throat and I immediately attempt to suppress it. That only leads to a slight nausea swimming in perpetual circles in my stomach. Maybe it's the butterflies drowning in the sloppy sloop of acid and bile down there. I don't know. I rarely know anymore..

First of many posts ..

I have never been very good at maintaining a journal. The thought of writing down the trivialities of my daily life gives me a headache. I remember times in Boy Scouts when the lesson was about keeping a record for your family members in the coming generations. I figure it would be yawn-inducing to read about great, great, great, great Grandfather Dean's thoughtful contemplation on which candy bar he chose at the store or how he felt when the Jazz lost yet another championship run? The better person inside of me is raging even as I write this because my first kiss, one of many family vacations, how I felt when I hit my first home run all would be worth reading about. I'm actually feeling quite guilty at the moment for not writing about those ... I guess I'll quit the negative perspective towards personal record keeping and wait for the next worthy event to write about.