New Year's Eve. The fireworks are starting early, and I'm good with that. Lily is scrunched against my legs. It was overcast and holidayish earlier. Rewatched episodes of my Guilty Pleasure for the 12th time? T went somewhere; K is in her room. Feel very all alone. These weird evening sorrows (so like my childhood thoughts)--what to say about them? They are a source of comfort to me. Would company help me anyway?

 State of flux, on the cusp, going thru some personal rite of passage. Half a century alive in human form. In a human's body. My body. That's a milestone. Same age as hip hop. Comical, that.

But, right?!? Need to decide on my Path. Is it cats or violet and periwinkel oil pastels or is it X or is it chauvin--a letter to him in prison--or is it Food or is it collage or is it pharmacy or is it library or is it Shoah or is it film or plays or is it Memoirs (although all I can report are impressions and not many external to my Psyche) or is it to sit and ponder in the Darkness or is it to witness dawn's approach or is it to love and admire art on Pinterest or is it to portray people with paint or pencil or chalk or oil pastels?