well, well. look at what we've arrived to.

i have, weeks ago, found a room in my house, endowed with a valuable window, a room which at that point was left unoccupied; i have painted it a certain blue, the exact color of even, satisfactory breathing; and i have made it my own. it is for my art, exclusively, because there is no other space, and the space i have claimed is ideal. there is a roof outside of the windows, facing the trees and the wind, and if i choose i can sit on the roof like i used to and have my music play me straight into the happiest sort of summer there is. i am ready for spring; i love the warmth, the vibrance, the energy coupled with the calm of the world righting itself again, filling once more with hues and shade. i am ready for spring.
and now i can paint, as messily as i want, without any worry; i can leave my paints on the desk, out of order, and my brushes in relative disarray, and walnut oil spilled onto the desk, and it will be alright; because i will be back, either to continue or to arrange things to my mind's ease. there is nothing like painting to transform you- when i am painting, i am someone else entirely, someone calm and focused, thoughtful and concentrated. my thoughts are splayed on canvas, openly and with reason, among all of the color, and i am new.
this really had no point to it, except that i am not tired and thinking of these happy things is so soothing.