This *foot thing isn’t the whole story. I’m not getting to the point; I know it’s bad writing. Bad, bad, bad. No excuses. I should write an article instead: 100 Simple Tips and Tricks For Using Art To Cope With Pointlessness 99 Ways I Used Art To Get To The Point When There Wasn’t One 10 Things To Paint When You Don’t Have A Point How To Paint A Cubist-Inspired Portrait Of Your Dog The Museum In Your Mind: Alpha Wave Masterpieces

Last night, as I was getting cozy in bed, tucking pillows under my knees and sit-bones in hopes of sleeping on my back with both feet pointed forward all night (not doctor’s orders, just something I imagine might help to correct the right-foot-pointed-to-2 o’clock thing), I remembered there is year-old…

I’m learning to walk again. It’s a long story, and there isn’t one accident or disease to blame. Somehow, over time, the *right side of my body got twisted. Or maybe it was always twisted. Now, as I concentrate on a heel-first/toes-forward kind of life, I remember all the right…