Nice Way to End the Week

This week was so stressful that I fell off the smoking wagon. Wheeled right into a deli after work on Thursday, smacked my ten dollar bill on the counter, and said, hook me up, my good man. I've had about half a pack since, and the rest are going in the garbage. I feel like shit from the smoking, of course.

I can't believe I used to do two packs of those a day.

I also had stress dreams this week in which I was drinking. I'd be somewhere, at a party or something, and I'd look down at my hand, and in it would be a glass of something--bourbon or beer--and I'd be sipping on it and then mildly note to myself that, oh, I don't drink any longer, but I would keep on sipping.

I had to stay a bit late yesterday at work, and was running late for my painting class. It was raining hard, which always means subway drama, plus the running late had put me leaving right at peak. I have to take the shuttle train between Grand Central and Times Square to switch to the line to get me to my class, and this shuttle train, even on a good day, is packed. 

I got to class about 20 minutes late.

When I walked in, there was an easel set up in my spot, but no one sitting there. Everyone else was working.

I thought, the fuck? That's my spot. Who set up in my spot?

I walked around, confused, and looked at the painting.

Whose painting is that? It's good. I don't remember seeing one like that last week when I was looking at everyone else's work during break.

Finally, the teacher said, I set your easel up for you so you could get started right away when you got here.

I looked at the painting and blinked a couple of times.

It wasn't until I sat down in front of it that it finally clicked. Yes, dumbass, that is your painting.

And it's pretty good.