Woke up early thanks to the neighbor's donkey braying his head off. Drove to zoo, now I'm off to my job.
Some ask me why am I so ceaseless. Why can't I find time for other aspects of life? Why does the art come before everything? I'm so afraid. "The fear that your fate is in your own hands, but that your hands are weak."* To me, all the obsessive practice is to control my future. How solid I am as an artist directly affects my life, financially, emotionally and otherwise. There is nothing else I know how to be. I can't program, I can't write, I can't be anything else.