i really feel uncomfortable in my own skin. nothing feels right anymore, in fact everything feels all too wrong to ever be right. ever ever again. the piece i started. it was a figurative painting. i hated it before it ever began. i hated the blank canvas. thats not how its supposed to be, the relationship of the artist with its subject. not at all. the painting was a struggle. the acrylics wouldnt separate. instead they all mooshed together to make a mud puddle. and i hated it. i wanted it to end. to stop. i didnt want to continue. i wanted to cry. i walked home and thought about art. thought about how i hated it. how i wished i had never discovered it. how tired and drained it has left me. seeing all of the unfinished pieces in my room made me cry. i didnt know what to do with myself. so i got underneath my covers and lay there for quite some time. thinking about what a nothing i really am. how i dont want to go to art school or take the AP exam. then i called shaylah. time has passed. ive caught my breath. and now i think ill paint again. well, that was weird. ive never felt that way before. but im glad its over. i love you art, and without you, im nothing. FIN