Whatever rumors you’ve heard about artists, they’re most likely, probably, for the most part, true. In my desperation for normalcy in the past, I argued with others and myself to dispel what I thought were grandiose lies but never came out on the winning end of the argument. Some time ago, I settled into the ultimate tale that would become mine and look toward the world and its shenanigans as if it were a gigantic television set.

Being the recluse I am, I can facilitate that with ease and comfort, knowing that I’m on this side of crazy and everyone else stands on the opposite side of it. I breathe with a sigh of relief that I’ve carved out my part to carry to the finish line. And no poke at Vincent Van Gogh, but if he can do it, I’m darn well capable too.

However, occasionally, as life goes,  I get a Paul Gaugin who tries to yank my ear but I’m resolute and steadfast, perhaps even stubborn, in hanging on to my spot. I don’t know what’s come over people to think whatever is tumbling around in their head is somehow better than what’s knocking about to get out of mine. That’s wildly outrageous. Selfish, even.

I said all of that to say, it’s okay. You’re okay (as far as I know). Eat the fruit instead of the donut (so the sugar doesn’t damage your brain). Take the nap (and stop fighting against yourself). Just be. And keep your mouth closed sometimes. I’m about to do it right now.