And I am drinking a cafe aule (sp?). What is it about filling your mug with warm milk along with that strong Italian coffee that makes the morning feel so luxurious? Well, maybe not luxurious, but real. Or maybe it's the cinnamon. It is Saturday and I am pretending to have a day off. Even though in reality I have a day full of homework ahead of me. I feel that rhetorical theory is stripping my mind dry. Where did the magic, the desire, the inspiration for teaching go? I am too mentally tired to get excited about anything. That is, except for this cup of coffee and seeing my little wolfie run circles of happiness when I went out to visit her this morning.
I have my slippers on. And if I could do anything today, I would write letters to the friends that will someday slip away from me if I don't give them time soon. Rita has infected my mind. I understand all too well how she feels-- how life isn't supposed to be this busy, taken over by things that don't truly matter.
But last night I took a break and spent some time working on ideas for my next painting. It will be a street painting. Los Gallos. The exotic of Minneapolis. I was trying to decide what colors to use. A day scene, or night? I like the idea of changing seafoam greens into bright Fuchsias. The red of a fire-hydrant set off with highlights of turquoise. The sidewalk blue. Golden yellow falling out of the windows. A street lights setting off the "nightness" of a mural of roosters. All of this takes place on East 27th street. With painting I can create the world as I imagine it. This imagination that is crying for attention.
Sometimes I think about dropping out of school. I can't help it. I like even the idea of it. I want to be a painter. I want a simpler life. I want to have babies. In my dream, Vinny gets a good job. And I am an artist. My paintings sell and I am able stay home and raise our babies and when they take naps, I work in my studio creating the colorful landscapes of my mind. However, I know that my life will always remain incomplete until I am a teacher also. I have always wanted that. I always will. But in my dream I become good at what I do. Along with painting I have the mental energy to keep writing. One day someone finds me and tells me that they have a teaching position that they think I am perfect for. It is not in an institution (university), but is a workshop where the people are inspired and energetic-- every one of them is there because they want to be there. We paint and we write. I'm not so much as teacher, as a catalyst. ok... well this is my dream. Rita dreams of opening a dog grooming service. She loves dogs. They make her happy. I think if our dreams came true we would be the happiest women alive. We would meet for coffee. Sometimes I would go to her dog place, sometimes she would come to my studio. And we would spend many hours laughing and talking and sharing our thoughts. We would have time to do this. Because in the world that I dream of-- we have time to be human beings.
Until then, I just keep dreaming. And as of now, I vow to keep writing... everyday. For myself. I will write and I will paint. And when I am finally done with this degree, I will emerge still human. Still sane. I am not willing to let myself be stripped of everything I love in exchange for a piece of paper that does not guarantee anything.
I will tell myself everyday-- Jessie, keep writing. Keep painting. Keep your world real.
...and the day begins. My cup is still half full.