The new reality

I’ve decided I need to work like the old-style painters, and this will help me get all my work done.

My husband (I’ll need to get one) will live with our wonderful children in the farmhouse on our genteelly impoverished estate with rambling overgrown gardens, while I live in a ramshackle outbuilding which serves as my studio.  I can’t live in the big house with my beloved family because I lose my focus with all the lovely familial goings-on.  They understand this, because I am a genius.  Everyday my husband will bring our curious, adoring children to my studio to visit for a half-hour or so while I work, and maybe he’ll bring me some lemonade.  I like lemonade.

While everyone wants to model for me (don’t judge.  Goldsmiths need nude models, too.), I have one favorite.  One who inspires me and is my muse.  Modeling sessions are often interrupted by the sudden need for hot torrid sex, and this is acceptable to all because I’m an artist and this is simply part of the creative process.

I’ll wear work-stained clothes, frayed and battered but of good quality, and I’ll have a perpetual tan with no sun damage.  My arty disheveled appearance will be complemented by the smoldering sexuality of my dark eyes.  I’ll travel all around the world, because I’ll be so prolific (what with all that husbandly understanding, sex, and lemonade) that my work will be in demand around the globe.   I’ll dress better for these trips, simple and carelessly sexy, and wear really great underwear and shoes.  My muse will travel with me, because I need him by my side; it’s business.  Unless he annoys me, and then he just needs to go back to the ramshackle outbuilding and wait.

I won’t make much money, because that would indicate I was a sell-out and actually cared about finances, but what I do make is managed by my dear husband, who never complains.  To live next to genious such as mine one needs to make sacrifices.

I’d get so much done this way, and so that’s how we’re going to roll from now on.


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