I hate everything I do an hour after I do them. I'll stare at a painting or an essay for hours and rip it to shreds. The moment I write something, after quickly editing for grammatical errors I need to step away and not touch it anymore.
I suppose that's the same obsessiveness that allows me to paint for hours focusing on the details within the details.
I wanted to make this a point. No writing beforehand. No outlines. This is as automatic as my other work. All a controlled chaos.
Shit, it's 3am. God damnit. I forgot to sleep again. And I need to be up in 3 hours to be a mom. I'm like, the worst adult.
I keep taking Aspergers tests online and I'm scoring pretty high. I'm not saying they're accurate as a doctor's diagnosis but they're like, legit making me wonder. It sorta makes sense.
That goofy person everyone thinks they know is just an incredibly uncomfortable, humor deflecting, sensory overloaded, on-the-spectrum babe (I'm talking about myself in case that wasn't clear).
Ok. Now my secrets out. Good thing no one will read this shit. Nobody reads anything anymore anyway.
Lover, 16x30" acrylic on stretched canvas.