Colored.

Children, if you clicked over to today's post eagerly, thinking I was going to make some vulgar joke about race, you're about to be sorely disappointed. And I must say, I think you deserve it, with attitudes like that. What were you, raised by wolves?

Anyway. I had one of those days yesterday, the kind where you're just sick to death of all the home office politics and on your commute to kitchen area of the house from the office area you get all kinds of dirt on your feet because you keep forgetting to sweep the hall, and all you want to do is unwind with some blank paper and the box of colored pencils your mother sent to you as a gift for your 21st birthday and which you've been saving for a really special occasion, a time when you needed a BIG pick-me-up, and you know that time is now. You know what I mean?


So anyway, I was all ready to be cheered up by the soothing act of drawing pictures, but once I got started, it became painfully obvious that I have not drawn anything for more than six years. I mean, I am bad at drawing things. So that was a good lesson. In how now to become a really talented visual artist. And also in relaxing.

"Bikini Frog," by Brenna (age 27)