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.

JUDGE ME.

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.