Yeah, bored. So bored I have schlepped across town on the bus in the rain to go to the wee United Church I rarely go to anymore. I am early but of course so thus and therefore, blogging at the library.
It is hard to blog in a bored coma.
The other day at art therapy, I said to G., the art therapist, ‘your art is better than mine.’
She said something to the effect of: “for the zillionth time Karen, art therapy is not about how well you do art.” Well, she said it more nicely than that.
Then she said she is an artist, does art every day, so alas, and therefore and thus, she may be vaguely more skilled than I am.
This got me thinking and remembering that perhaps if I write everyday and etc. Uh huh! Good point, art therapist G.
The hospice counselor, N., was vaguely confused on Friday. She said a version of this:
“You came to see me, a hospice counselor, for grief counseling, but you don’t want to talk about grief.”
“La, la,” I said.
No, N, I just want your compassion to like ooze out of your pores whilst I sit here and absorb it.
Instead, we listened to Mozart.
Crikey, bored coma.
So I read Robe Lowe’s latest ‘memoir’ because I dig me some Hollywood gossip. I think Rob Lowe should stop writing and go back to looking pretty.
Hey, that is not nice.
Well, I just think he is running out of things to say. But he knows a good way to make money when he sees one. Fair enough.
I am craving tacos, tis true.
Okay, just a short blog entry, gotta go to the little church in the café which will hopefully pull me from the bored coma. What I need is a roommate and a new place.