A Day in the Life of an Artist*

Since I spend the majority of my time being perky, cheerful and happy, I decided to see what it would be like to live in the life of an artist* (pronounce R-Teest). For a day, I would live as the creatively tortured do. I would wail in anguish, shriek in frustration and be glum and dreary. My day would be filled with brilliant ideas and rock-bottom moments in which I hit my knees, screaming toward the heavens, "Why meee?" It was to be an interesting day.

The mood was set when I woke up with a steady, falling rain. The steady, falling rain did not stop until 5 p.m. The skies were grey, as they had been for days. Therefore, I had the perfect environment in which to be an artist.

Driving to work, I encountered masses of people. Apparently, the rain was such a confusing occurrence they all crowded onto the highway I take to work going 20 mph. Sullenly, I drove through the pouring rain, letting the battering raindrops hammer away at my consciousness. I played two slow, depressing John Mayer songs over and over and thought about dark subjects, like global warming. By the time I got to work, my mood matched the sky.

I carefully stepped through the rain, distressed my new boots were getting wet. As an artist, I had to have the proper footwear. The mood in the office was tense and somber. People glided about with vacant looks in their eyes, or scurried around with their heads down muttering to themselves. Walking down the halls, heads would pop out over cubicles and glare suspiciously at you. I wrapped my dark coat further around me as if to ward off their evil looks, and cloaked myself in oblivion. After all, an artist must focus on his creativity.

Throughout the way, I was restless. There was a deep need in my soul to shout, to dance, to laugh. However, the tense air around me cracked with the slightest giggle. I felt as though I was caged in a box. My mind wandered all day, bursting with creativity and having no avenue to take it down. I read depressing song lyrics and slipped slowly into madness. As an artist, I was bound to have maniacal highs and lows.

After a long, depressing day, I finally arrived home. As soon as my hands flipped the light switch, I looked around my silent house. Looking at the bright cheerful items, I couldn't help but smile and feel my spirits lift. The artist scowled and buried deeper inside of me. And by the time Ben came home, I was back.

While being an artist is interesting, I think I like being the Blonde Duck much better. I'm a bit tired of those John Mayer songs.

Invisible Friends-

Stay tuned for a Land of the Flowered Bed story, coming soon! You'll have it by Friday at the latest!

Love,

The Happily Cheerful and Delightfully Cute Blonde Duck