Another valley, a deep one, too, but I might be climbing up out of it these days. I love and hate to realize my own apathy and selfishness. I honestly disgust myself, too easily satisfied, distracted, quick to settle.

Perhaps in subconscious response, Kerry and I took a trip to Clinton with her Wreck This Journal journal (each of the 150 pages or so has a prompt or suggestion for how to destroy the book). We drove through a tree tunnel near the dump at the edge of town, Kerry opened her door and dragged the book along the cool asphalt. We parked at the soccer fields, threw the book in a ditch, hurled it across the dusty white lot, and took turns jumping on it and tossing muddy rocks at it. We found leaves of yellow and red and orange and green, taped them inside, dripped our lunch on one of the pages, ripped another out and accepted the loss. At Lions Club park we put pennies on the tracks, and chased the train. We should have thrown the book at it.

Aggression released!

I pieced together my first frame for stretching canvas today and realized that none of the angles are right, literally, right angles, get it? Ahh.. It's definitely going to look like shit, but that's life. You gotta be proud of your shit.