My purpose here is to stay sober. Crazy thoughts in my crazy head zing around in this pressure cooker, and writing as a practice works to keep the mental monsters orderly, deflated, and negotiable. And, unlike meetings or phone therapy, I can always go back and check my perception. I am undisciplined and grandiose, with elusive self-esteem. Hence—a goal: to tease out what could be termed, loosely, reality. My thoughts go down here to chronicle my journey. It's been pretty incredible thus far, and the next indicated step for me is to write. What I do to heal, to understand, and to help must happen every single day. Whether I walk the desert, create art in a studio, work with others, or just sit in amazement at the gift that is my life, I will forget unless I make it a habit to punctuate the purpose of my new awareness. After years of insanity, I got another chance; I’m writing this one down. I make no claim to truth, and I do not care too much if I read less than brilliant. I need to do this for me. If anything here helps you, it’s above what I imagined.

Photo is a true story, Summer Sunset at Seven. Trilogy: The house Mom left me and my brother; the house we frittered away.

Page is under construction and I must be quite patient with my learning curve. 

Learning curve, bite me. I started this very expensive journal thirteen years ago. I've a lot more stories to tell, some disappointing, some hilarious-at least to me. Let's just say, I am no longer the poster child for AA. They say, "It takes what it takes."