I return to the keyboard, mouse and publish button. It's not that I didn't have fun with my other mistresses, canvases, paints and guitars... Just that I hate the Dilettante card. Hate, hate, hate it.... No, I would much rather be an Artist. True Artist. Favorite Artist. Anything but an amateur.
I cut my own hair last night. Chopped at it viciously with a scissor until I could regain my composure enough to stop. It looks okay. Would probably be a better look if this was 1963. No, you can't see a picture. I will have to turn in my hipster union card, though. I'm totally uncool right now. Maybe that admission makes me cool again. But I have a slight headache, oatmeal to eat and a body to punish at the gym.
I hope that we can be friends again. All my imaginary ones have long since left the building... Come back to the five and dime with me?