13,048 Days Alive
1.15 Miles Walked
Reffie and I went to the Van Gogh Experience at The Dalí Museum in St. Petersburg today. I was moved to literal tears, at one point. Not by the images themselves, but by the words. His words; his own struggles and emotions in his own hand.
I don’t think it was actually his handwriting, but I’m not sure. But the words rang with a certain weight that I utterly understand.
In ten years, the man painted more than 2,000 pieces. Two thousand. It gives me hope that in my days where I’m not wrung out as a day-old washrag, I have hope still to accomplish things.
I’m going to go meditate. I need to come down from the emotions of today.
Before I go, though, crab cakes are pretty good, still not sure if I like lobster, and I do like fried octopus (but I knew that!) and Reffie’s Momma and her companion Mr. John are amazing, interesting people who have lived long lives and I how I get the chance to make more memories with them.
Okay. Now to meditate and go to bed.
Take your meds, folks!