It’s four days before mothers day, so I guess my own mother decided to appropriately use the holiday to soften the blow of telling me she’s gonna sell the place I have been living and subleasing from her in two months. I took it well considering this particular month is the financial collapse resulting from a bad decision and a dedication to fun that is totally unwarranted. My domain name, www.camicamirobot.com, over drafted my account so I have no money for another two weeks and now I need to save up for a new one by July. I still smiled when I saw a few baby blackbirds bathing in a puddle this morning, on my way to an antique store to listen to them briefly tell me they don’t sell antique Asian dolls and would be closing soon to attend a funeral.
At any other point in my life, I swear a day like today would have crumbled me but I spent all day yesterday painting with Holly and I was happy. She woke up with a cold and I made her some tea and got medicine and I realized later on that we are all broke because we help each other and I wouldn’t trade my lending or fun for anything else in the world. I had Ed Hopper in the passenger seat next to me, with Holly and Dalton in the back and we were driving through Tarpon Springs via alt. 19 through a sea of beaten up Gyro and Cuban shops and everything was bright and Ed was going on about the difference between the world with glasses and the washed out world he sees with just his glasses on and I couldn’t even pay attention because I was too lost in thought about my friend who draws comics and pedophilia and counseling and the unfair judgement of society and its refusal to even offer help to an entire population of people that exist in the world and meanwhile later I would get a text message about my living situation that can only be described as annoying and I’m not scared by it or anything at all and realistically, one of my only concerns is where I am actually going to keep all of these vintage buttons. Buttons from when my Grandmother was in school for Fashion Design, years long ago that I could swear the people and flowers and places lacked pigment and she looked at photos of her Hat Model mom who wrote poetry and was distant and sad and all I do with them is keep them in this fucking tin on my floor. I wonder if someone would buy them and love them and transform them into things and help me pay my rent, but even if I don’t sell them they deserve a better fate that what has been dealt. Its a prolonged transitional period and they deserve to live a little. Until then I will keep making strange button mandalas out of them as per my morning ritual. Wish me luck in my life, friends. I feel like I’m just being blindly optimistic at this point. I should be scared but I know deep down I did this on purpose because I love a little challenge.