It seems my fickle friend insomnia has returned, although I must admit that I feel much less angsty about this than I normally would, mostly due to the fact that I haven't a schedule of any sort to keep these days. And, despite the fact that I only slept 2.5 hours last night, I feel more attuned to myself, my creativity, my core of happiness, than I ordinarily do when I am fully rested.
I sang Frank Sinatra to myself as I strolled down the street. I smiled.
I wonder how deeply I ought to allow myself to retreat into my mind, my daydreams, my sunshine delusions. I think I am happier here. I may never sleep again.
An invigorating Miró for an invigorated me---
Joan Miró, Dancer, 1925
PS. Granola is f'kin delicious.
miro will do that.
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