I've been sitting here in the office where I work, a smog test station in Huntington Beach, for two and a half hours with no customers. I had one stop in, but for technical reasons which I won't bother explaining, I couldn't test her car.
I replaced the bottle on the water cooler, stuffed some mailers in envelopes, fed the crows and cleaned my desk.
At home I have a half-finished painting, and about twenty more in my head that I want to do. Then this Enya song comes on Pandora, Storms in Africa, and it makes me think of all the beauty that is in the world and how I feel that I was put here to witness and record some of it, not sit in an empty office waiting to hook a computer to a car.
Admittedly, my life seems more meaningful when I am actually being productive here. But at age 61, a heart surgery behind me and my eyesight in a dicey state, I'm starting to feel like I'm wasting time that could be spent creating.
Unfortunately, even artists need to eat and live somewhere, and since I have squandered all the money and opportunities that came my way when I was younger, I now live from day to day and pay as I go. Selling a painting or two a year doesn't pay many bills.
I had a friend once with whom I could discuss these things, but that acquaintance is no more. So I resort to posting my thoughts here. Perhaps I can seize upon the energy of wanting what is out of my reach and put that into my art.