I’ve never had a good relationship with anything I’ve made. My current painting is in a literal time out right now. When my dad came into my room this morning and asked why there was a canvas in the corner with its back to the room, I told him I was “mad at it” as if that were a normal thing to say. He turned it around to look at it, and left with no comment. I guess he’s used to me. I’m mad at my writing too. I’m kind of taking the fact that its not good personally. One can’t rule out the possibility of it having a vendetta against me.
Words (today): 791
Words (total): 14949
Pages (total): 27
Nothing on this blog is included in my word count.