Awkward

Living in a studio apartment with your ex-girlfriend is hard.  Probably in no small part due to the fact that it's at least as hard for her (or, in this case, likely harder, since I'm the one staying and she's trying to find a new place).  She's totally stressed out, and I don't blame her.  I'm trying to be supportive and understanding, trying to make this transition as easy and painless as possible, but I'm the one who said it was time to end it.  No matter what happens from this point on, let's face it, I'm the asshole in this situation. We're looking at least another two weeks like this, and possibly more like four or six.  And it's awkward.

I can't seem to paint.  I can never quite get comfortable. Strangely though, I've been drawing a lot lately.  Or maybe not so strangely.  I always have my  sketchbooks in my bag.  I use them for everything from calendars to to-do lists to canvas layouts to shopping lists, so they're always handy.  So now my sketchbooks actually have a few sketches in them.  Which is weird on the one hand because I rarely draw, but on the other, not so weird at all, since all the drawing I've done has been anywhere but at home.

I sort of want to just crawl into a hole by myself and hide for the next few months, but I'm afraid of what may emerge if I do that again.  I've handled a few breakups that way before, so I know what's possible, and it's not always pretty. But I can't, even if I were sure I wanted to.  There's no place to hide right now.  Drifting, it feels like, in some sort of limbo.

I really want to paint.