first Thursday

   Well it worked. I mean I will have to go back to the drawing board, the handle will have to be lower. What the hell am I talking about. My art cart of course. It is rather simple. Over the winter I needed a way to show my art. So I came up with these two slats of wood that have notches cut out of them, big enough for a painting to slip in and stand upright. That was for my spot on the street during art walk. Then i decided they charged too much and art walk was bullshit. So I lifted up the whole set up and put it on wheels. Put a stand on the back and a handle and away we go. Art Cart. The thing is it is a cumbersome beast that will wear you down after a few blocks, let alone a couple miles. My shoulders are sore. I might of made a sale if I had gotten a space on thirteenth. But I was just fed up with the fifty dollar rental price. I hate the feeling that if I don't make a sale I am fucked.
    Of course I am fucked. But for entirely different reasons. Mainly because I cannot figure out how to speak in ones and zeros.
     I am going to take a wild turn here and discuss my family and why it bums me out. I feel like I cannot talk about my grandfather, because he was so successful and without trying climbed the ladder right into the white house and beyond. Because he was the secretary of education and I did not want to go into massive debt, like my mother, and never went to college myself. You cannot really say a sentence like that and not sound off some family problems alarms. Of course there are problems, but they have been so carefully avoided, that I have to talk around them to explain them.
    I do not wish to complain, that has no place for me on this forum. I wish I could openly embrace the man who had the largest role in my development. A man that was kinder, more caring, selfless, and perceptive them any one else I have met since. You know when you are with some one and the moment just feels special. It feels like time has slowed down and is smiling at you. The here and now is exciting, but in a peaceful way. I miss him dearly.
     But I have a job to do. Paint and survive. Even if I cannot share my memories, I will hold him in my heart. And I will live on, on the quest I have been on in some way since I shook the yoke of family and home. I used to think Grandpa would understand. would know why I choose to struggle down my own path rather then join society and climb the accepted ladder in the accepted way. Now I don't know. I know he would be captivated by the story that I have lived. But he may not understand it. It may not be understandable.