Artist's Block

The term back at school has been tedious. I'm not going to lie to you, I've felt like giving up at least a dozen times each day. Some days I feel that my only purpose there is the break-time game of cricket. The whole ordeal with Jaffa had been depressing and I'd formed a serious case of artist's block. I'd decided to paint a portrait of a man, but for nearly a week I struggled and struggled to get the face right. Even then it felt wrong. Day after day I worked away. And by Friday I'd had enough.

I blanked the whole canvass. White primer straight over the portrait. And to tell you the truth, I've never felt better. Before the coat had even dried I was splashing colour up there and making a mess, completely different from before - I'm colour blind and have let it get the better of me. I use black and white and small brushes, and that's it. But not today. And from the corner of my eye I saw my muse.

Jaffa, the fat bastard, was in my class that day, avoiding me. All my anger, all the hate, forever boiling inside me - I let it explode on the canvass. I'd turned my emotion into a work of art at fatty's expense, and it felt good. Ever since that day I've been reenergized for the day. What's better than art where you can learn and humiliate your rivals at the same time? Well, utterly destroying them is one...

Jaffa always complained to me about the way people thought he was gay. Forever was he saying "Let's not talk here or they'll think we are lovers" or "Do you think she thinks I'm a homo?". I too all my life have had this problem. A well groomed, polite and smart man must be gay riight? Well, so thought almost every tormentor I've had over my limited years. I know I'm not, and am comfortable because I know who I am. And this knowing gives me the strength to joke about my sexuality. If people call me gay I say I probably am, followed by some witty insult. And it was for this portrait that I'd use my security, and Jaffa's insecurity, for evil not good.

Underneath Jaffa's mug, I'm writing "We Were Lovers!" or something of the sort, in a nice pink tone. This will of course be displayed in both the foyer cabinet and the end of year exhibition, where I'm musing with selling it for free, just so I can show everyone how worthless he is. As I said, I don't get mad, I get even.

A Friend Falls, A Lover Rises

Well, this has been a bumpy few weeks for me. Love and revenge have been making their rounds and I certainly have been buying in bulk. As soon as the first mask fell from my face of lies, my life has altered dramatically. People are beginning to know the real me. Slowly but surely, like a faded fort resting into the sea, my truth is crumbling into my real world. And although love has been the catalyst, the sense of joy which has entered my life is what keeps pushing me to reveal more about myself. Unfortunately, not all could handle the new me. 

Jaffa, surprisingly, was the first to go. Although the honesty was good for me, he offered nothing else. For an overweight foreign man, he talked a lot about his conquests and girls he had crushes on. For a man with only one friend too, he sure didn't talk a lot about me though. The other day I expressed how I felt, how he never inquired about me and only used me for advice, and the dog which I had fed bit my hand at its most vulnerable moment. All the effort I'd put into listening to his problems and soothing his ego had backfired when suddenly he was confronted with the fact that I might actually not want to talk about him for once. The results have been somewhat amusing.

In his usual passive-aggressive-I want-to-kill-you way, Jaffa stayed for the last meal he'd ever be having at my house and left. From then on, his words have been "I don't want to see you for two lifetimes" and "Fuck you". Fortunately for him, I don't get mad. Unfortunately for him, I just get even. Which is why I am painting my latest portrait of his ugly mug so I can ridicule him before displaying it in the school foyer. 

But where one falls, another takes his place. And Vikki is just what my life needed. We have much in common and for the last few weeks, I've been living of her love and our times together. From the moment I wake up, I'm thinking about her, until the moment I fall asleep. And even then I've been dreaming about her. When I think about how much she loves me, I know that all is good in the world and that I myself am a good person. I hope that you know love, reader, because it is a wonderful thing. It has turned a sad, lonely recluse into a person much more beautiful. And I hope the wave I'm riding never ends, because if it does, I know I'll fall hard without anyone who can catch me.