Look, I got mail. The buzzer rang and the postman said "Gotta parcel" I said "Does it need signing for?" (meaning "Do I gotta come down? I mean, I would have to get dressed and everything.") he says "No, I can leave it in the hall." (meaning, "Anyone that sounds that grumpy doesn't even deserve their mail.") I didn't even go down and check for ages, then I thought it was for K so I just put it in the corner. It was hours later before we discussed it and he said he wasn't expecting anything. So then I finally remembered that I was in fact expecting the box of generous Christmas money from my in-laws. Now there's a sentence. I wasn't expecting a box of money! No, that would be silly! I was expecting what I spent the money on...
mmmm, Goldens...

It has been interesting to watch myself through the process of buying paint. We have certain concepts so deeply ingrained in us sometimes that we don't even know they are there. Like... artist=starving, garret dwelling, 'will work for paint'. Yes, often that's true, but that doesn't mean it has to be true. I was slowly collecting colours bottle by bottle, making myself earn them in different ways, proving I would use them and proving I would use them well (what the? by whose standards?) Even now I feel guilty about it, like I need to justify it. I am reading the chapter in The Artist's Way about abundance, and it was a revelation to see all the buried feelings about wastefulness, money, deserving. This is my remedy, this is abundance, and the only way to prove it was the right thing to do, is to play and paint and make and do!