I keep having horrible dreams about situations that put me in cringe-worthy social circumstances. Like sharing a bathroom stall with a stranger, having to take turns doing our business all without inclination of leaving the stall shortly after. Or walking into the bedroom of my ex as he sits behind a computer screen, clicking the little heart button on pictures of ugly paintings. Paintings of me, pale and lucid from waking up after a night of drinking and gallivanting across town. I can’t explain them, and I wake up under the impression they were all too real. I wake up embarrassed and anxious.
I went to a show, one where we sat down and drank Heineken from a 10 dollar can and waited for the ushers to slide silently into the vacant seats next to us so as to enjoy the show at a much cheaper rate. I liked their company. Not big on giving commentary or sneaking pictures of the performer while they thought nobody was looking. A familiar head of hair sat four rows in front of me, and although I wasn’t intentionally seeking him out, I anticipated his presence. We always liked the same things, although he claimed to have a more significant liking for them, especially when it came to artistically merited savants. He thought he was one of them too.
Someone once told me that in order to be great at a given trade, you needed to uphold a certain level of pretention, otherwise it seems like you’re too humbled by the world to share your talent.
It made me angry to hear this, being the meek one. The performer on stage played a banjo, each pluck reverberated and waned as it reached the top of the theatre. The sadness of the song always got me good, so poignant and debilitating. I could be just as sad with a pencil, the only thing separating us was my fear of making contact with the paper. And the boy sitting closer to the front didn’t know that.
He only knew that whether or not I made good art I would still not be “good enough” in any stretch of the term.
And maybe that’s how I preferred to be….for now.
Leanne make sweet things for a living, but she's a bit of a tart.