God bless this mess.

Key West is a mess. Mixed up. Turned loose. Out of control. Not tidy. Not regularly dusted. Not polite. Nobody seems to be coloring inside the lines in Key West.

I already miss that mess. I miss roosters in the street and on the roof. Six-toed cats snoozing on Ernest Hemingway's bed. A bathroom wall collage of faces and labels off old records, so rich with images I took four photos. (That's a record for bathroom photography for me, in case you wondered....) Key West is drunk and disorderly, it flies in the face of convention, upsets the apple cart. There's way too much to see and think about intelligently, so a day gets to be a crazy collage in its own right.

Key West swept me so off my feet and out of my brain, that I got all the way to Thursday without realizing we'd left Week Six of the Artist's Way and entered Week Seven. I was still happily diligently counting, though Counting Week had passed. But I did my morning pages every day. By the pool. Wearing my coat. Brrrr.

Julia is reminding us to listen this week. To open a crack in our usual judgmental selves and let inspiration flow in. To recognize perfectionism as the Evil Ego and ditch it in favor of nurturing and accepting our creativity -- flaws and all.

In Key West, I heard a woman with a voice like Norah Jones and a hat big as a lampshade, sing a song I'd never heard before. Turns out it was written by Jerry Garcia and a man named Hunter. Those of you who've read my novel know its theme was synchronicity for me, but it could work for just about anybody, I bet. When I write the second one in the series, I'm putting this on the first page. I don't think I'd ever want to live in Key West, but I sure do love all the disorder I hoarded up in my soul against the coming of a tidier day. Enjoy.

Comes a time when the blind man takes your hand
Says "don't you see?"
Gotta make it somehow
On the dreams you still believe
Don't give it up
You got an empty cup
Only love can fill
Only love can fill