Are you nuts?! Of course I would. Experience is great, but the pain and exhaustion are useless. I'd like to live forever, but I wish I felt better while I'm doing that.

Be of use in my work and my art, regardless of whether that earns enough to repair the roof, pay the vet, and get my own medications. This is close to what I'm doing now. However, even if I was OK with my partner supporting us, she doesn't make enough to cover all that.

For the first 15 years of my life, only my father encouraged me to think and feel and tp make art honestly, even though (especially because?) my explorations took me far from home (although not geographically). Without him, I wouldn't be here.

My most creative season. Waking up in the light. Long walks in longer days. Abundant local fresh food. Free art. No shoes. Relief for people who live outdoors. Pleasure for the dog, misery for the long-haired cats.

Find right livelihood. Learn Spanish. Fnish the novel. Free monkey mind. Discover $50K lying around somewhere to pay an attorney to help godson out of the mess his vindictive ex created.
OR!
Seriously?
1 hour of cardio & 1 hour sit (like every day), plus finish the web site re-org, write a new chapter, honor the dead.

That I DID wake up -- can't take that for granted. And then the hysterical robins that sing the sun up and down in the willow across the alley. And mostly, that this is a whole new day in which I can do anything and during which anything can happen.

What I want is to be free of wanting. Not by getting, that is, but by letting go of the always wanting.

In this case, platitudes work. Say: Pick your battles. Or: Would this matter if you had one day to live? Even: Living well is the best revenge. And especially: The one person I can change is myself. Currently, my big conflict is me vs me. Here's a platitude for that: Courage is not a lack of fear; courage is going ahead despite the fear.

Lacking a community that takes care of its own, money becomes the substitute. If I have enough to pay for the repairs on the house or car, then money is invisible. If I have something put away against that time when I'm too old and sick to earn, then I can tell myself I might have a good death. If I don't have enough to repair or to pretend I'll die warm and dry, then money moves to the top of my list of stuff to fret about.

The real estate professionals euphemistically refer to my neighborhood as "transitional." If I walk the dog five blocks east, she craps on the manicured lawns of the nouveau riche living in the homes of the rich pioneers. If I walk the dog five blocks west, she craps on the dandelion-speckled front yards of the original families who served the pioneers. The descendants of those early families live in un-Potterybarnified houses with ordinary bathrooms. Why, I don't think they even have stainless steel kitchen appliances.

I love the beauty of both. Seattle is a moist, green city and this neighborhood is no exception. Because this area of the city is so old, I can walk to many places that no one in a car can get to. I can walk down to the lake. I can see thick-trunked trees that were saplings when the original residents moved here.

The house itself is nearly 100 years old. It was built for the son of the builder out of his own heritage -- crockery and seashells worked into the walls, for example. It's just big enough to accommodate friends who pass through town, and currently, a godson who needed a safe haven for a while.

That's a lot to love, isn't it?