Lately I've been practically dreaming of painting. I've had no time.
On friday, I stole away my own afternoon. Instead of doing anything productive I just drank tea and painted a picture of my cup. Then I painted in color on a picture I had doodled while at work.
Right now I'm writing an english essay on Romanticism. It's my favorite period of literature and I'm actually enjoying rereading "The Tables Turned" by Wordsworth every three minutes.... but I'm still wishing I didn't have any notes to go over and I could just paint.
Sounds lovely, no?