I was 32. I thought I was really old. I majored in drawing and painting. I have a B.F.A. In drawing and painting. I graduated with honors and something or other. I can't remember now. It took me 6 years. It was a good time in my life and also a strange one. All I did was run around taking classes. Many were not art classes at all. It seemed like all I did was carry art supplies, set up to work and then carry it all back. Over and over. I thought I had time. Time get my life somewhere good. I failed at that. it's obvious. I've been the same person since I was maybe 6 or 7. I was never going to be successful or happy. No matter what the outside circumstances were. I'm praying I never have to incarnate in a flesh and bones body ever again. It's been far, far too painful. In India and the east everyone knows exactly what I'm talking about. Here? Some do. The rest are... well... They do them and that's the right thing.
