Today marks 5 years that Ive been in NYC and man Im tired. It seems like these last 5 days have been a culmination of 5 years worth of challenges leaving me breathless in my attempts to maintain velocity. Despite it all, I dont stop. And why? Why does one continue to pursue love where heartache resides so naturally? It’s a bug, really. It’s a bug that desires to transmit this abstraction into something physical. It’s a bug that doesn’t allow me to see color and scenes just as pretty pictures but as intentional detail and composition which describes a vague expression. Its a bug that’s been with me since the day I could remember, a deeper desire to create art and tell a story; to have something substantial to say within rooms where nobody was really saying much. Would I have it any other way? Of course not. I rather feel fully & existentially than complacent anywhere else. Carl Jung once said, “I rather be whole than good”. Me too. 5 years in & Ive turned absolutely mad. Absolutely delusional. 5 years in & Im not happy— Im absolutely enamored & nobody, no situation, can take that from me. Happy 5 Year to this crazy bitch that I call home.