Magical White Skies; No Stars

I am one of those people who could either consider themselves extremely fortunate, or incredibly insane. Case in point: I have one of those magically nerve-wrecking, innocent seeming, white-washed ceilings.. that well.. talks to me. Ok maybe not 'talks', but it tends to have the most amazing advice on most odd days when I have the chance to just lie below it and stare. Sigh. The thing is, I am actually quite serious about this revelation that may be cause for me to be certified unfit for general pandering about the normal social scene and booked into a grand and lofty padded room somewhere on the outskirts of the city. And preferably in a straightjacket.

So anyway, where were we. At my ceiling. The irregular piece of rhyno-board just above my bed. The sky to my bedroom. My safe haven, my mini art studio, my library, my pamper parlour.. my cave away from the rush of it all..

The one that talks. And tells me, more or less.. partially conscience-like.. when im doing the mildly insane and where it is i might have totally dropped off the dark side. Things i seem to becoming quite adept at, i might add.

And so. I shall'nt reveal the dilemmas aplenty suffice to say that im a clam. And so it shall be. Silent turmoil and hoping that the new year brings renewed hope for all things good. Something to look forward to. Blind hope and engaged surrender.
What else is there worth living for?