Mandolin Rain

I would feel so much better if I could paint, but all my supplies are already packed. It’s not like I’ve been able to paint in ages anyway. Smearing color around a canvas or random found object- it feels fantastic beyond words. Must maintain faith that I am on the right path, no matter what evil, shitty people are around me, acting terribly. I’d rather shoot for angelic, even if I fall well short. So many things that I can’t express as well in words, only in paint or icing.

I can barely stand to read the news, but I scan it anyway out of worry. Such insane things are happening in the world right now, danger and violence everywhere. That’s nothing new, of course, but the internet makes it front and center. The maternal instinct in me worries about those in harm’s way. There’s so many, it’s overwhelming.

Here’s praying for rain, and that windswept sense of release and therapeutic washing. Here’s also wishing that depression+ panic attacks didn’t = instant crashing into self-harm mode. It makes difficult situations even more challenging. Those waves of sadness and despair are ferocious. I never think I’ll survive. I wish more people understood, but then I don’t want anyone else to experience the hell of it. But a lot of people understand.
Love to all

Mandolin Rain- Bruce Hornsby and the Range
Black Sheep- Gin Wigmore

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