So here I am sitting in the airport lounge when I recall I had a profile on deviantArt. I haven't been here in a while so I thought I would pop in and enjoy the brilliance. I need a dose of brilliance right now as I am clodding along a line of dullness at the moment. Last night I was out in a bar/lounge called the Reservoir in downtown Toronto. My date and myself in a sea of mid-40-50 something Bay Street types moving and grooving to some kewl jazz, drinking JD, making small talk BS with anyone that would listen. And I thought to myeslf "Has it come to this?" Eek!

So one hangover later, one long drive to the airport, one introspection as my flight is delayed, here I am. Wondering the meaning of my measley existence in a vast Earth filled with richness and beauty. Why am I not a contributor? Look, I am NOT feeling sorry for myself. Quite the opposite, I'm kida of mad actually. All this time, all the opportunities, all the connections, all the edumacation, all the talk, nothing. Nada. Zip. Ziltch. The realization is sobering. Yes motivating. Like a virtual deadline - pun intended - suddenly seen with immense clarity. "Release the Hounds!" I hear my creative torture master shout in the distance; I think I should start sprinting ...

Regards, Art.