Good News
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I got out of mikes car. It roared off down the hill. He was headed home to possibly have a panic attack. I myself went inside my house. My parents were in their room. It was one oclock a.m.
Monday I had a painting due for a class taught by a teacher who teaches in a school in a town I lived in. I had to paint a picture of an event that actually happened to me. Since at that time I was entangled in a violent bout with partial amnesia, this task was rather hard for me. What have I done? The only reason I remembered the assignment was because it was tattooed to the inside of my eyelids, and I have habit of shining flashlights into my eyes until I have to shut them. Which I did that night. Then I saw the assignment.
I decided around 8 oclock pm, which happened early that night that I would paint the picture when I got home seeing as the next night, which would be Sunday night, that I was going to do something other than paint a picture. And Sunday I did. Sunday I went out dancing and snorted crystal meth.
I got out my paints. I set up my easel. I am ready to paint. I can do this. Paint.
Paint what? A picture? Oh yes, “an event that actually happened to me”. What is an event that has happened to me? I cant remember a single one. I thought I would smoke a cigarette. I smoked a cigarette. When it was finished I didnt know what to do. Ill take the dog for a walk. I got out the leash and a flashlight. A few minutes later my mind was jogged and I turned the switch on the flashlight to off.
In my paint kit there are thirteen tubes of paint. Mauve is my favorite to create with. In each tube there are so many possibilities waiting to spread out across the canvas. When you have twelve more colors than say only mauve, and you can use them with each other or combine them, the possibilities of what can be expressed shoots the roof. I estimate, and this is no exaggeration that there could be as many as two hundred and thirty different pictures that could me made. Why cant I paint one? I started getting panicky. What can I paint? I hate painting. Where am I? Im painting. I paced back forth across the hard wood floor. What have I done? What is an event? I couldnt think of anything and I was beginning to scare myself by how worked up I was getting. I got the idea to call some of my friends and ask them if they knew of any events that had happened to me. I called one. Somewhere a telephone rang. I got no answer. I couldnt remember if I had any other friends so it was useless. I was getting so scared. What do I do? I wish I could remember. I think one time I played a game of baseball. Ill paint that. I tried. But I knew it wouldnt work because I couldnt