Inconsolable Grief, by Ivan Kramskoy, 1884.
The Scream, by Edvard Munch, 1893.
The Impossible Art of Li Wei, here.
I shouldn't have written this. I shouldn't hit PUBLISH. I shouldn't be angry, but I am. Honest and raw and hateful and for this I am sorry. But I don't know how to be any other way.
If you're still reading this, if you haven't wandered off to look at other blogs posting about holiday frocks and baubles (which normally, I totally would have done. I love me some purdy purdy, but right now I am just not my normal self)... if you're still reading this, please reach out to me as I fall out the window. How is this dismal economy affecting you? Your job? Your stability? Your spirits? And if it's not, please god, tell me what you do and how you do it. I've got you by the pinky now and I'm not letting go.