I am now 50 years old. My being churns with desperation for a new way of life. Countless eyes will be upon me but nine lucky starts will illuminate my darkness and a warm sun will caress me. Others will wonder what has become of me for they can only evaluate the success achieved at my trade without considering that which has me dreaming of touching stars. They will stare at my art with doubtful eyes thus weakening my trembling insecurity, yet regardless, I need them to sing me a song of my accomplishments. Perhaps a support system and a few quick sales to boot will salve loneliness. I must not let the mounting bills tempt me to return.