I'm cheating a bit here: this post shows two days' work. The one on top is what I did today and the one on the bottom is yesterday's.

I had to quit early today. A friend of mine is in the hospital with a broken ankle and it took me two hours on the phone to straighten out what her home care will be when she gets out. Tomorrow will be more phoning and a trip to the hospital, which is 45 minutes away. I care very much for her; she needs me. There is no question in my mind but that I'll do whatever I have to do to help her as she is somewhat dependent on me at this point. But there is a big part of me that is in tears over the disruption of my work. It has always been that way for me: since I was thirteen (and I'm now forty-six) I just could not bear to let anything come between me and my time painting. Actually, I think it quite a sign of maturity (or am I just losing my edge?) that I am able now to sacrifice painting time for someone else.

It is a strange thing, but once you feel the irresistable compulsion to paint you feel like the whole universe is designed to stop you from doing so. More on this later.