I tend to be easily distracted. I would like to say that is because my brain is such an awesome power that evolution hasn't yet allowed for its rapid fire rate of - of - um - awesomeness. But the real story is I'm easily distracted.

I believe the technical term is "ants in the pants".

It doesn't help that the world is full of so much stuff - so much to notice, so much to think about, ponder, muse, dwell upon, fret and obsess over.

The good news is I'm never bored. There's a party going on in my head pretty much non-stop. A lot of the time it's a managable get together of civilized revelers in quiet conversation. Soft jazz plays in the background punctuated by the clinking of glasses and an occasional titter.

The bad news is sometimes the party gets crashed. Bikers roar in and the terrified jazz trio is chased out. A keg is tossed into the middle of it all while AC/DC blares "Back in Black".

Actually these guys are fun but they are distracting.

Did I remember to buy milk?

And I don't really appreciate them showing up while I'm in the middle of a tennis match. They have horrible timing. I bounce the ball. "Yellow ball, yellow ball, you are my world." That drowns it out for a minute or two until a guitar riff of some song I just can't seem to remember the name of makes me miss a passing shot that I should have gotten - I mean, really.

I think my car's due for an oil change. I better check.

But the worst place they can invade is my studio. It doesn't help that I've littered my work space with open invitations. My drawing table sits right under a window.

Look. A bird.

And there is a t.v., complete with seventy-one channels of crap, which is bad enough except I don't really watch anything for longer than a few minutes at a time because, "Hey, seventy-one channels. I might miss something important."

Shoot, I forgot to take the sheets out of the dryer.

The stereo beneath the television is for talk radio. Lord knows that's not distracting. No, rude people interupting each other is the ideal work environment. I know, it's a sickness. I'll seek help.

Does the dog need out? And school financing is a big problem.

The computer stares at me not two feet from my drawing table. You would think it was the internet that posed the biggest challenge to my concentration but no, there is an evil that lurks there that is much, much more dangerous-like.

The solitaire game.

Excuse me. I'll be right back.

So with all these things battling for my attention, creating can be difficult. When bent over a oil pastel drawing I repeat my mantra - "Purple poodle, purple poodle, you are my world."

(This is not just random. I really was coloring a purple poodle earlier)

And that'll work until - they're baaaaack.

Back in Black that is.