Hope the Other Shoe Never Drops

Tomorrow is Philly again, that is, if it isn't pouring. In that case, we'll put it off, hopefully not to Sunday though. We're supposed to go to the museum down here then to see a particular show. I've been working here on the computer for a while while I watched a mediocre Linsay Lohan movie. I was dying to watch TV to zone out and I finally found that. I've had malware attacking my computer since I downloaded some program that didn't even come through. It got down to something called adzgalore which could drive a dead man crazy. Really, it wasn't that bad, just ads blasting through whenever I went to a new url. I just x'd them. but since I have a neat adblocker on here, I wanted adzgalore off. I'm hoping I did it just now. I've been running all my spy programs over and over for a couple weeks.
Earlier, I painted for a few hours. I like the new father and son in the forest. Nobody seems to see the figures, but I know they're there. I ran out of this beautiful purple and the replacement I got at Utrecht, (in Philly last week), is more red. They didn't have the purple I wanted. It looks like I need a yellow plastic paint too for the frames. Or a tealy kind of green. I figured I could mix it up. I don't have much of that kind of paint. I just started using it for frames last week. Acrylic! That's the right name.
I paint as though there's a market for my work. Most likely, I'll be storing hundreds more paintings in the garage. No surprise. I have hundreds of watercolor/pastels from the "turn of the century" in there. I hope Cousin B. is willing and able to actually convert the garage. I really love this house. I'm crazy about it. I'm planting more shrubs, moving plants around. Starting more bushes... I'm in love with this place. I feel so lucky to be in a house I adore. I know it's a privledge. It's like, for some people, life clicks. Situations lead to generally good things. I don't want to give myself any kinahorras. I'm pretty superstitious, even though I know it's spurious. Nutty, but in this case...
People are conditioned to believe if one is a professional, a real artist, then one survives by the sale of one's paintings. I don't know where that idea came from. Mostly, that kind of life went out with DaVinci. Rarely can an artist actually eat with painting profits. One would definitely starve. I figure one is a professional if he or she went to art school and paints all the time. I know art school isn't really necessary. It's a luxury. I got it and I'm grateful. I'm glad I exhibited because, even though it was mostly shit and a waste of time, having friends come was like a party, and the fact that I showed in galleries convinces people I'm the real deal. If I started now, I'd probably never bother with galleries. I did sell sometimes in them, probably more than from home, but I still hate the whole process. Well, I'm a mess dealing with that. I guess, at sixty, I give myself the senior citizen escape clause. And the ignore it clause.
Turns out that crappy shit is still on here. Motherfuckers.