One of those days...

I am angry.

Like really angry.

And honestly? It's stupid. I shouldn't be this angry.

Ever have one of those day(s) where nothing seems to be working in your favour, but irregardless you curb your temper and keep trying anyway? I just had one (or a few).

What is the problem you ask? Honestly? It's stupid. Really stupid.

A few days ago I made a resolution that I would teach myself how to paint digitally, and be effective at it. I've had Photoshop for like TWO YEARS, but I've yet to really use the program. I've always said 'I'm just too computer-illiterate', or 'It's too hard - whatever'. I've pretty much just ignored the thing. But who is this helping? Certainly not me. This ignorance is in NO way making me a better artist, is it? So I decided to get off my lazy ass and work for the skill that won't just come to me at the snap of my fingers. Work to better myself as an artist, and to stop making pathetic excuses as to my own incompetence.

And I was feeling really good about it. Remember that piece I linked you guys in my last entry? I've been working on that piece for like TWO DAYS. Two whole fucking days, and what do I have to show for it? Skin. I've painted some skin.

Joy.

Over the course of these past few days, every time I sat down to work on this piece, something or the other has come up. Either my father or my brother need to use the computer for some urgent matter or the other. And I let them. Why not? There were perfectly good reasons after all, yes? And what was I doing that was so important? A hobby. Something on the side that wasn't nearly as important as the things they had to do. And it was true. I agreed with them.

But what angers me is that every time I fall into a rhythm while working, fall into the groove in which things just flow naturally from the hand, I get kicked off of the computer.

But that's cool. It's important right? School work, assignments, projects - it's of utmost importance.

But why the MSN? Why the Hi5? Why the mail, and the chatting, and the socializing? Oh look. Jee Golly, it's been three hours and whoops he hasn't gotten any of his school work done!

Oh, he laughs it off. He's on break, he's 16, whatever. Can I blame him? Not really. And so with a sheepish grin, and a shrug of the shoulders he lets me back onto the computer so that I can try and work on my piece.

Half an hour later.

I'm just getting into the groove. I'm working to a rhythm, my thoughts are erased by the music in my ears, and my hands are moving of their own accord. Art is being created.

And there's a hand on my shoulder.

Mom called, she's totally pissed at me for not having anything done! I've got to hurry and get some work done! Seriously, it's important! You don't mind... do you?

Off course not. Go right ahead. This is, after all, your academic future we're talking about, yes?

And so he sits on the computer for a few more hours. Whenever the parents are in the room, he's typing away furiously on Microsoft Word. When they're gone, he types with equal fervor on MSN.

And it happens again. And again. And again.

There has been so much drama going on in my house for the past few days, what with my mother finding out and all of that. I didn't want to argue any more, I didn't want to fight, I didn't want any of that shit. So I let him work. And I got nothing done.

Do you know how it feels to be yanked out of a groove? Each time it gets harder to find the same rhythm (each piece has a different one), and each time it get's harder to concentrate. Your passion leaves you, little by little. And soon enough, you're bored with the thing. The sight of it is a pain. It becomes an obligation to finish, to pick up the tablet pen and apply strokes of non-existent paint, to a non-existent canvas.

Yesterday, I got onto the computer at twelve. I was up until two, painting furiously, untill my eyes started to hurt. So I went to sleep. And here I am again. It's now 12:30. My brother just got off of the computer (he had been previously dealing with some kind of argument between a couple of friends that he just had to take care of, otherwise his pathetic little 'ego' would've been bruised or something.

He 'finished' the argument at 11:00, so I asked him if I could go on. He said in a bit, I really feel like talking this out. So I said, is twenty minutes good? He said, yeah that's great! Thanks!

Twenty minutes later.

Someone's sending me a song! Could you wait a couple more minutes?

My friend just came on! I need to talk to him about our project, a couple more minutes?

I just need to burn this one CD, five more minutes?



12:00 he finally gets off.

What are you so pissy about? I'm going, I'm going. Jeez, don't need to bite off my head - don't you have any patience?

I swear to God, my vision wavered.

It took me entire minutes to remember how to breathe properly.

I told him to get the fuck out of the room. He looked as though he wanted to argue, but thought better of it by noticing the look on my face.

I was so upset that I didn't work on the piece. I just couldn't open the file, and pick up the tablet pen. I couldn't even fucking breathe.

So. Here's another wasted day, because I know I'm not getting anything done with the mood I'm in.

And honestly? I don't even know if I want to bother learning Photoshop anymore. I'm just so tired. This resolution was supposed to take my mind off of the gay thing, and make me feel better by creating some artwork.

Well that worked out peachy keen.