Living the dream?

I was working as a vegetable delivery driver a few years ago, when I delivered to a house near the park with a knock-through kitchen and a life I wanted. It had concentric stacks of Mason Cash bowls, a heavy-weight light-coloured oak table, and a collection of cookbooks that included a few Jamies and Delia one two and three. I scanned over it as I dropped the bags and thought, I could never have a palm that big, a table that heavy, a bookshelf so heaving. Maybe I'm not so far off after all.

It's hard to know whether to go with something you know well, and galvanise it with your own look. I got excited at the Petit Bateau catalogues today, shit, I'm going to make an OBJECT at the end of this. How will it look? Will it be revolutionary? Will it be lovely? Will it have, NEON?? Do I go with food and subvert it, go my way, really hammer it, or do I start with something I have only a slight knowledge and go at it from a research aspect? What am I trying to achieve?

I just got back from an amazing dinner (you know who you are!) and I have some gift beans. I am quite excited about them and I want to paint them. I want to paint them and then pop them and salt them with crystals. It put a spin of reality on my day where there was only frozen moments of impossibility. I CAN'T be this lost, my brain can't have died, they can't not have my size in any of the underwear I want to buy. I hope this is a transitional experience and not all coming days pan out to be as exhausting as the last three. Creativity can't be this hard.

It is strange how sleep rejuvenates. It feels like a new, peeled version of self. A new layer, like a new calender date, a new post it note, a new box of cereal, a new chequebook. Newness for the sake of it. I hope I start to feel more myself soon. I can't quite figure out exactly what I need or what the problem is. I'm sorry I feel I have made nonsense I have had wine and am exhausted and seem to have left my punctuation on someone else's kitchen table