s;krdghwaekhoewanfs

I want absolutely nothing more at this moment than to crawl into bed with my boy and fall asleep. But lacking proper sleep aids, it is likely I will be up all night, agonizing over the details of this face. When I said I would cook him brunch tomorrow, and I have done non of the shopping, and it is 2:36 am. And the apartment is a fucking mess from my painting fit. "Then we'll eat on the kitchen floor" the romantic in me says, but that's just not his style. he likes things proper, clean up before relaxation. For me that means perfect, or not at all. That is why so often I feel like it wouldn't be worth it for me to try, because I can count on one hand what I have produced that's been perfect aside from academic papers and exams.

I am so unhappy. I love my picture of my painting that I captured before I destroyed it. I hate the physical painting on the easel staring back at me. Ambien is not putting me to sleep. But the photo is all that matters anyway right? it's all anyone really sees. otherwise the damn thing just sits in the apartment against a wall curling up and distorting.

Whether I get to sleep in the next 5 minutes or the next five hours, I'm still getting up early, d=going to the grocery story and making brunch for my boy tomorrow.