Last night, I had a dream about Liz, my old project manager. She was the person I aimed to please the most during the first three years of my employment. At times I succeeded; others, I failed miserably. She left last year to work at another company. Liz was tiny; she barely reached five feet. But she had enough gumption, spirit, and confidence for five people.
I took my dream as a sign that I needed more gumption and spirit. That thought cheered me today.
I bought paints yesterday at HEB. I was shopping for necessities like the responsible damn adult that I am, and found myself wandering in the toy section. The Crayola paints seemed very appealing, so I picked up a set, along with some paintbrushes and a sketchbook. My aunt is a very talented painter, and after seeing so many talented artists lately, I’ve been inspired to try my hand.
Unfortunately, as I paint my insipid picture, I can’t help thinking of my grade school art teacher. She was nothing short of psychotic, but that is besides the point. She used to erase what I had drawn and tell me I had done it wrong.
A seventh grade math teacher compared my drawing skills to hers, which she had always derided.
My point is, I can write decently and can keep a passable rhythm, but art? Oh, no.
It is very relaxing, though.
This song provided a good soundtrack to my day:
Also, fuck this song for being so catchy:
This song is a bastardized retread of every song released since 2008 and I will probably hear it 7,895 times this summer and will likely detest it with every fiber of my being by June 23rd, but I DON’T CARE. I LIKE IT.
I will agree that the first minute of the song is fucking horrendous, though.
Oh God, I just realized she samples “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” at one point, WHY DO I EVEN LIKE THIS SONG?*
Time to go make more bad art.
*the chorus, really.