My middle finger has resorted to a self-induced fever to get rid of that crazy splinter. The rest of my fingers are ice cold. I have a bipolar hand...hooray?
I need an emergency $100. In 12 hours. Any takers?
I always write on my hands. My left hand, actually. Carl Sagan. 7780. Leukophobia. April 22. They're all different, but they all mean the same thing: "remember this".
Fine, I'll be over-analytical. Watch this.
I loved painting that damn bobblehead.
I took a whole hour(ish) out of my life for three whole days. I sat in the back of Mrs. Michelluti's eighth grade art class for three whole days. For three whole days, I played with paint to quench my mid-morning thirst for creativity.
But I realize how much the art kids love it now. I didn't think so, but there's such a huge difference between the art kids, the theatre kids, and the music kids. I thought we were all pretty much the same.
I belong to theatre and music. They take a lot of effort, practice, time, and stress. I guess art takes a lot of the same, but there was a lot more freedom. Theatre and music; they're both free and they're both creative, but there's always such a high-strung degree of...chaos.
I don't know if this is just me being languid in the morning, but I didn't taste any chaos playing with that paintbrush and listening to Corinne Bailey Rae in the background.
I lost myself. And I loved it.
I stayed immersed in that project for the time and I wanted it to last forever...at least until I was finished. I didn't have to speak. I didn't have to look. I didn't have to hear. I just had to be. There's nothing so liberating as art.
And now I miss it.