The lady at the art store knows me. For those of you that know me, this fact alone may be shocking enough. But what shocked me today was when she asked, "Why do you always look so sad when you're here?" Of all the possible questions, that one cut straight to the heart of this summer. I have discovered recently that I appear to others as if not only my dog had just died, but also my parrot and hamster. In short, the expression that I wear on my face is not neutral or pleasant, as I thought, but actually sad or intense. This is disconcerting to me. It raises some questions. Why do people like to be with me if I am constantly raining on the party? Is it because, perhaps, they're afraid I will eat them if they're not nice to me? How am I going to appear in China? Does Botox work to create a smile? All of this I have pondered, and I have learned a lot about myself. I guess being bored a lot teaches you things, and I am not sure how to assimilate my new information. It's not as rosey as I would like. On a seperate note, have you ever just wandered around an art store? It's wonderful.

There are thousands of colors and hundreds of devices, none of which I can wield, to release their potential.

Dreamy music fills the background, singing about summer and witches and watermelon. And I am there, staring at paint brushes as if they're wilting flowers, while joking with the only art store employee on earth who knows me.