A Blank Canvas Says More

(I know exactly what she's singing about.)

My living room is a homemade fort of unpacked boxes. I'm unmotivated to unpack and exhausted with facing them every moment I'm in this room.

I was told, by more then one woman who has been jilted by an ex live-in boyfriend, that there will come a moment in my new boyfriendless apartment when I will exhale the sadness and inhale the peace.

...

Maybe I'm not breathing right. I'm not sad, I'm not anything. I'm mostly tired.

If I had to paint a picture of what I was feeling it would be a gray square on a white canvas. Dull. Means nothing. Expresses nothing. Not particularly depressing; unable to convey.

I'm relieved that most of my daily tasks are simple - I don't feel terribly burdened by anything nor enthusiastic about anything. I don't feel like myself. But at least I'm not lying in bed, covers up to my chin with a straw in a vodka glass and "The Notebook" on reply in the DVD player.

I think it's this way because for the last 8 weeks I lived with Andrew we did not live as a couple. I'm very much used to sleeping alone. I'm very much used to eating dinner alone.

I'm still figuring everything out. My gray square really wants to evolve into something bright and powerful. My goal is to paint an orange smile. A yellow and blue paw print. Or paint nothing and just get past all of this.

I own a neon, yellow bicycle for Christ's sake!!

Somebody told me when things seem really foreign and you can't classify what the hell you're feeling because it's so crappy and achy and you're just so god-damned tired of feeling it; tell yourself this is a memory you'll look back on and say, "Thank God that time in my life is over."

It's only temporary. This blue-gray rainbow that only blends in with the sky; this bullshit that makes no sense - is only temporary.

What would you paint on your canvas?