I melted down in class tonight.
The painting I started last week, that was looking ok, I fucked up.
Over worked it.
And I hated it.
And I cried.
Tears of frustration, and tears of grief.
Not just for the painting but for everything in my life at the moment.
8 more shifts before we shut the doors.
8 shifts of acting like it is all okay.
I should get an Academy Award at the end of it.
Each day it is more of the same. Holding that smile as I face the customers who are either pissed or sad or both.
Reassuring, informing, the same questions answered,
And over again.
And I just have to keep smiling, and although I agree with them, I try to spin a positive.
“New adventures” I say, when they express concern about my job.
But while the shelves in the shop are still full, the storeroom is empty as we clean, and pack up stock and send it away.
It is so damn depressing, saying goodbye.
5 years of memories, good and bad.
And then today, a regular customer told me his wife had died.
I forced back the tears then, but tonight, the floodgates opened.
The act collapsed.
The art didn’t work
And I cried in room of women, some who barely know me.
My head aches, but the waterproof mascara worked.
I feel hollow though.
So tonight I sleep,
And tomorrow, the show will go on.
“Yes, it sucks, but there are new adventures ahead”
1 2 3 …and smile.
*my solution to fucking up the painting? Paint the whole bloody thing black and start over and I still hate it.
Perhaps this weekend I can salvage something from the wreckage <!–more–