Sometimes, it just piles up, ya know? Yesterday, I went to a client's house to p/u my paints. Our schedules conflict until Thurs. and I need my paints b4 then. My client showed me the elevator I've been working on (yes, I'm painting a mural inside of an elevator shaft!). It is an Italian villa where she stayed with-her husband a few yrs ago. Absolultely gorgeous. Perfect setting for any artwork. She completely painted over my work. She had purchased huge wall murals, like wallpaper, and they didn't fit, so I was simply adding 3" to the sides, top, etc. in a style that matched so you'd never know that the poster was too small. But on the main floor of the elevator, there was one, completely blank wall and I was able to paint an entire scene. The original artist either used a huge brush or a palette knife, because you can see the strokes. Neat style. As you step back, it tightens up and looks realistic. My client's work is much more restrained, the colors are a bit more muted, and the strokes are smaller and smoother. It's a nice painting. It's just not mine. Nor, is it the original mural/poster artist's. I didn't think it was that big of a deal until I got home. Then it ate away at me. I am trying to detach. I need the money, desperately, so I have to go over Thurs. and finish. And then she will finish whatever I finished. Sigh. Please, give me strength. This is not good for my self esteem. She is extremely neurotic and she has lost her general contractor, her cabinet maker, her floor tiler and her electrician. I am the only one who has stuck by her. She exhausts people. (She and her mother are using bright blue painter's tape to mark teeny, tiny areas of the tiled floor in the basement where there are chips, and filling in with-oil paint. This is a floor!!!! husband said, "They're not bldg a house, they're bldlg a museum.") Then, I'm working on this Zimbabwe memoir. So many of the chapters are simple sentences, like, "In 1979 we moved to Matebeleland. My mother hired someone to rebuild the house. The rebels had moved inland." OMG, where's the passion? The angst, the action, the pace?!!! Oh, yeah. That's my job. I have talked to this guy so many times, and he just wants to repeat the history and the timeline. I have tried to drag out descriptions from him and I end up making up things. I'm lucky I've been right 99.9% of the time. Once, I actually fabricated a description of one of his teachers. All he said was that she was beautiful. I had no idea if she was black or white, fat or thin, nada. I gave her huge eyes, wide cheekbones, cocoa skin. He liked the description. So I have to do this throughout the entire book. I love to write fiction, but I feel like I'm walking on thin ice because I never know if I'm way off. I am getting very tired and frustrated. And then, there's difficult child. And husband and easy child are leaving for Honduras in less than 2 wks. I am going to try not to worry about them. They supposedly have bodyguards 24/7. (I will post separately about this.) I will be alone with-difficult child for an entire wk, during winter break. Last night, the pressure was bldng, and I said to husband, "Please help me think up ideas for things to do with-difficult child while you are gone." He said, "I can't. I'm busy. I'm looking for a waterproof wallet for our trip." I've been very cranky lately, and just this a.m., discovered I had my period. I just had it 2 wks ago. At this age, I'm supposed to be losing my periods, not adding more! My obgyn says my only option is a hysterectomy. No way. Too drastic. I can't take hormones because I had breast cancer. I can take Effexor, which takes the edge off, but it's not the same thing, when my estrogen level is -254. No wonder I was craving choc chip cookies last night! I have so much to do and I am just spinning my wheels. Thanks for listening.