Aaargh.

I can't paint. I was wrong in that last entry. There are so many things standing in my way.

This is what most artists go thru, I suppose--at least I *hear* that's the case--trying to get up and do the work. So I guess I'm not alone in this.

But--for those who didn't know, here's a fun fact--I live with my parents. I had to move back in with them a little over a year ago for an abundance of reasons. There is no private space here. There is no *uncarpeted* space here where I can just paint without worrying about flinging bits everywhere. And I don't like having people see my work before it's done. I can see it now (because this happened years ago as well)--I'll be working, or maybe not, maybe I'll just have the painting half-done and sitting there--and they walk by and with a great deal of enthusiasm, wish to discuss it. This is very sweet but because I'm so painfully self-conscious, I just can't take the scrutiny--even if it's complimentary. I know TJ would love for me to set up a studio at his space but it would be the same sort of problems, and I just can't drive over to Pasadena every time I get a wild hair and decide to paint.

It's lame because I sit here and all day long I *think* about getting my supplies out and painting, and I don't do it. All I'd have to do would be to dig the stuff out of all my crap in the boxes in the back room (from when I moved back in here, never unpacked), but instead I sit here, twenty-four feet away fro my canvasses and paints, and do nothing but stare at the tv or the computer.