While attempting to edit a couple of bloggish paragraphs at 3am I accidentally erased what I'd written. The cricket that recently moved into our space, due to construction out back, chirped away like she was laughing. Feeling sorry for myself is a useless waste of energy. And the blog I lost was all about my lack of energy. I opened with dirty dishes in the sink. Then I moved on to the dirty laundry. This translated into energy. Or lack of. Creative artsy people need to be plugged in as much as the not so artsy. The sources that replenish the soulself, bodyself and creative environment varey. Everything becomes a transfer of energy. If I am a conduit where is my source? And what happens when...