I am bone tired. This is what I've decided to do with my break time in between my first two gouache compositions and my last gouache composition. As I type, I keep my cloth-swathed left index finger away from the keys, especially the "i" key. It's missing because of a certain cat who shall remain nameless.
Lately I've been listening to a lot of new music, but I have to say that in spite of all the wonderful new stuff I've been hearing that Lex Land still has a special place in my late-night hardcore art-making. She's too honest and very soulful. I guess I can relate. Sometimes my honesty gets me in trouble, too. It's worse if I'm lying to myself about anything, though, because I am a terrible liar except when I believe my own lies.
I've also noticed a few things about myself that are eerily similar to the kind of person my father is. I have weird people-reading abilities that sometimes border on superpowers just like he does. Not all the time or anything, just when I decide to pay attention. They work on me, too. I've found that I'm usually a really accurate judge of my own competence. I'm also critical like he is, and I love to lecture people (mostly in my internal monologues nowadays).
I guess I just think too much because of my anxiety problems. That's something I know I got from my mom. She also gave me her work ethic.
And you know what? On days when I look in the mirror and see a monster, I can just close my eyes. When I open them again, I can see my mom's plump hips and long legs, and my dad's crooked smile and molten chocolate eyes.
I am made of an act of love.
