Waiting for –

I could write about how much I loved to hear yesterday that Bones had been picked up for a seventh season. Actually, I offered Hart Hanson, the series creator, my art for Angela’s office. I would have liked to offer me as a substitute for Angela, but then I love Michaela Conlin in this spot. So, I may want to jump in as Angela and Hodgins’ baby sitter. Or not, because Hart Hanson of course didn’t reply. Neither did David Boreanaz when I pointed out his painting to him. Hey, they say most people are secretly or openly vain and google themselves and so. I doubt these two ever saw the tweets.

And no, I don’t think this is quite what I want to write about. It is not quite it, but loosely related. Following up the last entry Hero on Hold I am now ready to conquer the question: How often can one go through the cycle of excitement and disappointment without loosing the fight?

This is the cycle I mean: I have the perfect idea in my head. Its birth took a while. It left me mute, anxious, squirrelly, down, confused – so many things. But labor is over and now it is here. It says it all. It is so clear and comes so natural. It comprises it all. I get high. I can’t wait to create. I can’t wait to make it visible. That’s my thing. I can see how it will affect others. While working I spin tales better than Balu’s. The moment it is done, ecstasy peaks. It’s this moment that surely will change everything, the moment hard work and talent pays off. It’s the moment you want to share with friends. They are there. But otherwise – radio silence. You give heads up. No reaction, not even a ripple in a puddle while the world really is an ocean. All I could do and it is like it never existed. Bullets for my self-esteem.

What difference makes it if I get up in the morning? What difference makes it that I am even here? Would the puddle be rippled if I just leave?

But then this picture floats up from the depth of my head, a fleeting feeling caught in a spider web of colors, shapes and simple words. It’s something unique like a fingerprint or the iris of an eye. It is something only I can leave before I leave. It is me. And the hope rises, the excitement swells. This time, yes this time I’ll be seen by the world, by the prince on a mission to rescue me from my tower and I am acknowledged with waves, surfer style.

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