(Serious as a heart attack)
--

Today, I wanted to be an animator. The next Disney or Miyazaki-- that's what I'm going to be! The Academy Award for Best Animated Picture in my hands-- "I want to thank all the people who got me this far, and everyone who has supported me through all of my endeavors!"

And then my Inner Voice (Fred, or Ted, or maybe even Billy Bob Joe-- he tells me everytime, I never remember) says, "You dumbass, you can't draw."

And I say, "Oh. Oh yeah."

And Morty or Bill says, "No shit, Sherlock."

And with that disparaging note from Inner Me, I find I have to chuck the images of fame and fortune and that oh-so-pretty brass statue out the window-- and, even more heartbreaking, the promise of making said award-winning animation. Le sigh.
It'll never see the light of day.

So I think I'll try to paint those same scenes with words, though they might be considerably more cluttered and...wordy. That's the only way they'll see light, anyway.

But you know what? My words have their own kind of charm. My words draw a different picture; like watercolor to painting. They both capture the subject well enough, I think.

The world is my oyster, and it's full of pearls.

And you know what? Screw you, Joel or Will or Mike. Next year, I'm taking life drawing. So bite me.