Sunday, September 30, 2007
I haven't painted since May. And believe me, listening to the soundtrack of Frida makes you wanna paint like van Gogh's holding a knife to your ear (Heehee, I once got a card informing me that I had van Gogh's ear for music). But fo sho, I haven't touched my paint-brushes. Well, I kinda can't, they're actually my mom's, and therefore they live in my house. So too bad for me. Or I could sign up for a painting class. But I don't think that would be such a good idea. It's not that I'm a horrible painter. It's just that I go through these phases. Like with dance. I really wanted to dance last year. I went to my first dance class in six years. I fell down the stairs. I didn't want to go back. Fun times. And I stuck with it, and was in really great shape, but I just got so sick of it. I developed a metaphorical allergy to dance. I wish that I was one of those people who was amazing at one thing and one thing only and that this one thing was my everything. As cliche as that sounds. But I'm no permanent resident.