So, around 10:00 a.m I awoke to hear the Sheriff at the door, serving the bad-tenant his eviction summons and complaint paperwork, hoo-ray. It wasn't noisy or anything, I just heard the words, "..some papers for you... mumble mumble ...5 days to respond ...Clerk's office ...okie dokie then." So, happily, serving him with the papers didn't turn in to a huge complicated ordeal. Good, that.
I dozed off after that, musing "Hmm, perhaps he is quietly planning to smother me, à la One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, while I sleep. I'll takes my chances." A few hours later, I awoke again to a thunderous roaring sound, like giant piles of gravel being dropped from a tremendous height in to a blender. I peered outside to see that it was only a wood chipper out in front of my house.
Then I was pretty much fully awake, so I made myself a tasty bagel and started making phone calls (fencing contractors, creditors, PG&E) while I watched Pay It Forward halfheartedly. I did, however, do the right thing by calling the accountant to make an appointment to go over my mother's final return. Good girl.
Last night,
But the thing is, I love to be able to talk and interact with someone while I paint. It makes me really flow, somehow. It's absolutely the best possible setting for me to really let go and just make images. It works several areas of my brain at once, it makes me less tenative. And, invariably, the subject matter of the conversation always influences the end product in unexpected ways.
The trouble is that most people tend to get bored just talking while it seems that I am ignoring them. People want to be entertained, more engaged, but I really cherish the times when I'm able to really delve in to thought and discourse while I make a big painty mess of everything.
Hm.