"The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud that didn't even get to sit up and look around." Vonnegut

I've been doing quite a bit of reading, of thinking, and of drawing...therefore, a lot of being alone. I found myself writing this today:

I guess life is a road, and in traveling that road you sometimes find yourself on a path that seems un-invigorating and monotonous. You think back and forward and you wonder how things could really feel any different--no matter what part of the earth your road is on. You realize the reality of your reality. You realize that you exist and you are walking. You are tangible and you are experiencing the experiences. Life is actual--it is real, and the fact that it seems un-invigorating is sort of daunting and hopeless. But it gets better. Then it gets bad again, and that's the cycle. Sometimes the cycle happens in a day and sometimes it takes a few weeks.

My reality got better today with the discovery of Esperanza Spalding. This lady...oh this lady. She's got it. I'm mesmerized.

"lucky me, lucky mud."



I like the thought of mud.