Amazing how much sleep can be lost over them. I think it was just after midnight I really regretted ever agreeing to enter this painting comp. Sometimes this whole depression/stress/anxiety crap can really get to me at times.
Of coarse, then my mind played a little game by giving me a strange dream about a ghost who communicated to me through manipulating words on pages to the (somewhat creepy) use of objects. To clarify it was a friendly ghost who was trying to remember who it once was and it's tragic fate, while also wanting to exist in the same sense as we do (and to a certain point, be alive). Heck, if I could write it would have made an interesting book/movie script.
The subconscious is weird like that.
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