i tugged at my hair, staring at the blank canvas in front of me. usually, i would be very inspired to create another beautiful painting. today, my mind was scrambled. i couldn't think of anything.
"damnit!" i screamed at the top of my lungs, so frusterated. i was so glad the apartment was empty today.
after a few minutes, i finally gave up, throwing my smock on the ground and shoving my paint brush into the bucket of water.
"'oh sweetie you're going to be the greatest artist ever!' my ass!" i yelled again.
my friends always told me i had anger problems. i never really believed them.
i stared out the window, at the tall buling across from mine.
i hated new york, there was no space. the apartment sucked, too. the rooms were too small. and there wasn't any privacy with these giant windows covering half of our living room wall.
oh, and you couldn't have cats.
most of the time, i would be alone inside the apartment with my parents out at work. my friends were horrible, so i never had them over.
it was just me. all alone.
"so, brooke, what should i do today?" i asked myself, outloud, bored out of my mind.
"oh, i don't know, brooke, how about pig out on doritos and watch television?"
"nah, we did that yesterday. how about we take a walk?"
"oh, you always know what to do, brooke!"
i smiled at myself, but then realized how weird that was and hoped no one had heard me.
well, of course. i was alone.
so i grabbed my bag, threw on a pair of flip flops, and walked out of the door then straight to the elevator.
"out of service" is what the sign said. i groaned loudly,
"can today get any worse?!"
i stared down the flight of stairs. all 20 of them, and sighed.
"excersise is good for your heart, i guess," i said to myself before moving down onto the first step.
this would be one hell of a day.
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