Today begins the countdown to my ultimate fear of all.
Last night, as I had my usual sit-down-on-a-coffee-shop session, I had this moment of reflection that I’m turning an age away from the calendar. I mean what the f**k is happening? When I was still 17 years old, I promised myself I would commit suicide if I’ll reach 30. So, this coming birthday would be my suicidal attempt in fulfillment of the promise that I made when I was deeply, relevantly immature.
You know what? Get rid of that!
Seriously, last night, as I was on the cafe’, I finally decided to move out of there and find another one that I am able to just sit down, write, draw, sketch and read a book without ever disturbing my thoughts and of course my pocket. That’s not an easy thing to do. Five days ago, my cousin helped me figure things out as we move along downtown in search for this perfect seat that would fit my butt and my brains without losing my artistic retention.
Yes, this urban street meddling is difficult.