In thinking about yesterday’s post, I realize again that I shouldn’t be surprised or disheartened by my isolation.

I don’t come from artists. My family isn’t about art. My family is about money.

I am the poor one, the one who has to worry about money. Oh, the rest of them worry about money, but always in a “How can I get even more of it?” way, not a “How can I pay this doctor bill?” way.

They are the people wondering if the house should be sold for just under 2 million or just over. I am the one wondering if the roofer will do half of the roof now, and half later.

And I would be one of them if I could.