a fellow artist who was chatting with some of my WASHers (students), told them to get a hobby because their art is not a hobby. I've known this to be true for quite sometime, but I simply haven't found a way to squeeze one in to my work/art/reno/build new network schedule–even a lot of that is falling through the cracks of my time and frame. I had hoped to be kayaking regularly by now, but haven't managed to shuffle my schedule or funds to accommodate that. I do walk, perhaps that is my hobby; I do write, not as much as I'd like, perhaps that to is my hobby. though both I do as a survival technique; I require them for hopes of sound or sounder mind yet my brain yammers on. does that make these a hobby? I think the pushing, pulling amidst gliding of slicing a blade through a small body of the hydrosphere would be soothing. yet I look to my fall (bahahaaaa. oh the ambiguity of language) and again find it already filled with assembling a body of work for a new years exhibition, prepping packets for the hoops of public servanthood job life cycle for the state, potential alternatives to cover my ass that requires food and shelter. hobby. I would like a hobby. I must learn how to pry open crevasses of time to slip a boat into the waters that lay a mere nine minutes away.
thumbing and small screens do not lend to proof reading, so I shall not.
go finish packing kathy! ok!0