Smiley Face
While we were packing Drew went through the birthday cards and holiday cards he's collected over the two years we've lived in this apartment. At dinner he told me he found several handmade cards from me and then we talked about what a weak, wretched little stream my creative output has become. Or, rather, how weak it's always been.
Last week while I was talking on the phone I doodled a smiley face and Drew tried to save it. It was so ridiculous, though. When I found it on his desk I threw it away. At dinner last night he said he thought that smiley face revealed something about my unconscious or something. It revealed something about something, although at the moment I'm having trouble remembering what it was. But listening to him I started thinking maybe I should try to do some kind of free-form fine arts project (painting or drawing or something -- I don't know if those are considered "free-form" and "fine arts", but you get my point) --
OH JESUS A FLEA JUST JUMPED ON THE KEYBOARD.
Oh, Madeline. Goddammit.
-- anyway, I think doing something that isn't so rigid (I'm also trying to start knitting, but that's the opposite of free-form) would be good for me during med school. Drew wants to get back to painting when we move to Philadelphia, so maybe I can use his scraps.
Ugh. Fleas.
Addendum: Drew would like you all to know that (a) he loved all the handmade cards and (b) he never actually used the words "wretched little stream" and (c) that he's a much more loving, kind boyfriend than he may appear to be in this and other entries.
Last week while I was talking on the phone I doodled a smiley face and Drew tried to save it. It was so ridiculous, though. When I found it on his desk I threw it away. At dinner last night he said he thought that smiley face revealed something about my unconscious or something. It revealed something about something, although at the moment I'm having trouble remembering what it was. But listening to him I started thinking maybe I should try to do some kind of free-form fine arts project (painting or drawing or something -- I don't know if those are considered "free-form" and "fine arts", but you get my point) --
OH JESUS A FLEA JUST JUMPED ON THE KEYBOARD.
Oh, Madeline. Goddammit.
-- anyway, I think doing something that isn't so rigid (I'm also trying to start knitting, but that's the opposite of free-form) would be good for me during med school. Drew wants to get back to painting when we move to Philadelphia, so maybe I can use his scraps.
Ugh. Fleas.
Addendum: Drew would like you all to know that (a) he loved all the handmade cards and (b) he never actually used the words "wretched little stream" and (c) that he's a much more loving, kind boyfriend than he may appear to be in this and other entries.
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