I walked down the boardwalk under the blazing sun thinking not about the day, no I was too blasted tired to rate my days practice, I was thinking of Tylenol. I was in true, deep, sensational pain. My muscles tell me I need a break. I’ve been working myself hard recently. This day I felt 41. Thing is, there’s so much I want to do and so much I want to learn. Many things I just want to feel. And I don’t have forever. Who does!? Under that hot sun, for a moment, I felt written in by Hemmingway. An after thought character on tired legs with one paragraph. I needed some substance, but I couldn’t think for the ticking of the clock and the pain in my shoulders. I suppose it was a good day, yet in the oppressive heat, under white skies and yellow sun, I felt grey and wanting. I had a vision of a wide rimmed hat, a long pier, a fishing pole, an iced beer with lime, and a deeply tanned companion. Yet, I don’t fish, and even in my vision I knew I’d fall asleep in the chair leaving my deeply tanned companion to find other interests. Ironic. Even my imagination was going sour in the heat.

Some days I can feel life racing along so fast I’m sure it’s responsible for the breeze coming in my windows. I feel like I have a painting to complete before morning and someone stole the magenta. How can you complete a work of art without magenta? “I’d like 15 more minutes please, I’ve got to run down to the shop.”, I’d say to the ghost in charge. “It’s too late,” she replies, “besides, all the stores are closed.” What can you do? You just have to find a way to complete the picture without what it really needs. It’s imperfect, but the stars on the eastern horizon are beginning to fade. Soon enough you have to put the brushes down. Take it as it is. Meaning well, some would say no one would notice. They’ll say you did a good job, excellent in fact. . . But they don’t understand. YOU will notice. Misguided well wishes write your epitaph. Etched above your head. . . they will haunt you into oblivion.

Thing is, that doesn’t sound like me at all. I’m not too good with personal limitation. I don’t accept it. I want to shout the ghost down and demand a replay. “Get me proper supplies, then I’ll paint you a damn picture! And while we’re at it; Who said I wanted to paint? Where did you dig up these roll models? Who’s idea was a time limit anyway!? Who said I even wanted the job!”

One thing is sure, this isn’t a job. And there’s no test. No prize at the end. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, it’s only life. Blink! And isn’t that the way with everything? “Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you’ve waited so long for, like absinthe.”