10 more days to go. Before a exhibition opens the body putts me trough a series of preparatory stages. all muscles ache. Nightmares about paintings haunt the night. mouth hets sores and big black bags settle beneath the eyes. Every time, every single time and i do not understand why. Its like post stress syndrome of the graduation show at st martins when i became allergic to coffee having to tried to use it to stay awake for a few weeks. The period before graduation from college I spent a few hours each day looking after two sweet and very energetic boys, working as a intern at Rove gallery and was trying to complete 3 large paintings and make something the annoying work books -retrospectively creating documentation ideas that happened before arriving at paintings. The day i handed in the works. Mot people form the studio went to Soho square with bubble vine to finally relax, and i continued on the drive to rove gallery where i continued to work.. But than fell asleep on bubble wrap on the concrete bloor beneath a Damian Hirst cabinet of crystals in the gallery to be discovered later by the manager. I have paintings on the wall on the floor behind the wardrobe. There are hundreds of st. Jaques shells full of paint . And the brushes them self's are tired and refusing to do their job half of the hairs having worn off in the last week. I sure hope they are not alive like objects in the beauty and the beast cartoon as i have treated them rotten and probably explaining why they are painting so bad last days. I keep circling from painting the hands on one painting to face in another to babies in the third. Aaaaaa I want to be somewhere other in another skin drinking martinis by the poolside of last century frecnh films and be something other than a painter. I want to be a on a horse in the wild west riding the plains for days .