Good morning. Never mind. Afternoon.

I feel like writing, but I don’t want to because lately this blog is full of too much sadness. Or maybe I’m full of sadness and don’t really want to write about anything but sadness.

I don’t want to use the “a” word anymore, but it’s taking over my life lately. And the thing about the “a” word is it makes me crazy and it makes everyone around me think I’m crazy. I think a lot of anxious (oops) people keep it to themselves and they look normal, but inside they’re just boiling up with fear. But I think it just shows all over my face and my house and my clothes and my paintbrushes. I opened up my paintbrushes and all of them are cracked and smelly because I left them wet in a bag. They were left in a bag because the day I put them away I was freaking out about a project and needed to get out of watercolor class as soon as possible.

I’m devastated about my paintbrushes. I’m sad that I don’t take care of my things. I’m sad about the stains on my jeans and my jacket looking worn because I don’t give myself a minute in the morning to think “Anne, let’s put this away. Let’s not worry about all the things you have to do today. Let’s just put your nice things away. Three minutes.” Those paintbrushes were expensive. Diana, my art teacher, said her sister still has her brushes from college and if you take good enough care of them, you can have them for a while. Even when she said that to the class, I knew that wasn’t true for me. I just kind of laughed to myself and thought that will never happen. I knew they wouldn’t last long, but I thought they had at least a year. I can’t buy new ones, so these will have to work.

Lots of things bring me down. When I can’t make food, I get super depressed. People, I feel so helpless sometimes. Like what the crap is wrong with me? Why does my fettuccine sauce taste like oatmeal?

I spend most of my study time painting for my watercolor class and I am still not going to get an A. I don’t even know if I’m going to get a B. I hate art classes. I work so damn hard and still a teacher has to come up with some criteria (that we don’t get to see beforehand) to grade our pieces. That’s got me down too. I feel like I come from this super artsy family, but I don’t feel like art comes naturally to me. Making art journals is anything but relaxing. I still make silly grammar mistakes in my writing. The only thing that comes kind of natural to me is learning languages, but even that is something I’m not perfect at.

Perfect. My fortune cookie at Panda Express the other day said, “You have a yearning for perfection.” It was a bad day for anyone or anything to tell me what I really am and that I don’t want to admit. I called the cookie a little shit.

Someone who I respect said to me last week, “You’re very interesting, Anne. You can be very assertive but in other cases you’re quite passive.”

I can’t stop thinking about that because it’s true. Those words just punched me in the gut. I don’t understand why I’m like that, but it was almost relieving to hear, because I have never been able to articulate it. But it makes me feel incredibly lonely.

 Mooshy mooshy gushy.