Fan blowing, paintings in flux, didn’t leave enough time for art today. At least I left something. Maybe that’s all that counts. To make some time for ART ALWAYS. I fantasize about summers to come, as my children grow, the time I will have to paint and write. I dream of outfits to wear when I take off my pajamas, when I become a teacher. I inspire myself, studying the Language section for the CSAT, learning how language is learned, how children learn to read and all the new ways I can teach Fiona, ways I could teach other children. Teaching is the perfect profession for me. I just need to stay focused and not let the system get me depressed. I know it’s fucked up, the standardized testing, the major differences in the schools scores which seem to depend on how affluent (and white) a school population is. It makes me mad when I hear people saying they don’t want their kids going to certain schools because they say that their kids learning potential will be affected by the “other kids” they think are “slower” than their own. I have to stay centered, in the present. The fan sings to me as my paintings from today dry. My hands still covered in paint. Starting with gloves, never following through. My time is nearing an end now, it really is. I must go, leave my sacred space and rejoin the world. Unlock my door. I made time for art, exercise, study, and writing today. Cleaning, laundry, and now the store and bank. I read books and poems and sang to Jack and Fiona. This is the end.