I am writing this at the gym where I work. In terms of ambiance imagine a shoe store at the mall that was also a high school lunch room and doctors office. Now imagine getting buck naked and trying to build a soap bubble sculpture in such a place. A library staffed entirely by crying babies and furious invisible wasps would be more conducive to the writing process.  

Were I crouched between the water fountains, defiantly masturbating, I would feel less exposed and transgressive than I currently do. More entitled to the act. The irony is that I am writing this for public consumption yet the process of creating still feels necessarily private; I want plaudits for the portrait but god forbid they see the brushes and paint. Still, if people quit grabbing at the brushes, and trying to smear the paint, privacy would feel less necessary. What possible justification is there for tapping someone on the shoulder and asking “You look really focused, are you working on something?”. I can only assume this person also tackles paramedics mid CPR and asks “Hey, are you trying keep that kid from dying?”.

So why bother? I don’t know, why does my cat eat bread bag clips and hump the shit out of the same red blanket every night? Sometimes your need for release exceeds the practical limits of your situation, so you squint and make do. There is poetry in that, I suppose.