numbers equal less than art.

Dear you,

I'm sorry I never learned how to start a revolution and I'm sorry I'm having my midlife crisis at eighteen years old.

But revolutions only ever justified the acts of terrorists and I've always thought I was going to die at twenty-four anyway.

I know you keep telling me to suck it up and "get 'er done" and all that stuff, but I was never as assured as you or Mom. All I know is the moment you told me to major in art, I nearly cried. Because what parent understands the needs of their child like that? Of course, you also told me I should be a biomedical engineer or mathematician, but you definitely said to me, "Don't you like art? Why aren't you majoring in that?" and it wasn't in the way some people would say it, as if it were a last resort. You honestly were concerned for me that I had not arrived at this conclusion myself.

You looked at me as if I were the dumbest person in the world for not arriving at the conclusion that I should spend the rest of my life doing what I love.

And I tried to explain to you that I'm going to be poor. That I'm not going to be able to go on cruises or fly to New York and no one is ever going to buy my paintings because they're not as great as I'd like them to be. But every excuse you fended off with an eye-roll and I started to wonder who I was trying to convince.

The world has warped me, but I'm just glad you're here to recognize what I need because I'm going blind, doctor said so (blame Mom for that, she's the one who started the library in our basement). I can't do it for myself and maybe it's because I'm stuck in my midlife crisis or maybe it's because I have way too many anxieties or maybe it's because I just really don't know what the hell I've been doing all my life and I just really don't want the past seven months in college to have been for nothing.

All I know is I'm good at getting covered in paint and my favorite moments are when people tell me my art or writing made them feel something. I guess it all just comes back to the fact that I need to stop being so dissatisfied and start trying to be happy for real this time. I guess I need to realize that 4 I got on my AP art test wasn't for nothing the same way I keep hoping my pink hair won't be for nothing. And I guess you and Mom both don't want all the money spent on art supplies and all the years spent stealing me random junk to throw together into things and all the time telling me not to get paint on the floor and all the hours spent asking me questions like, "What the hell are you doing with the raspberries and a paintbrush?" and "Why are you tearing apart the garage again?" to be a waste as much as I don't want them to be a waste. 

I just got frustrated with it all because you and Mom and Brother Dearest all seem so much more put together than I do. But I know it's not as true as I see it because he didn't go to therapy for nothing and Mom doesn't take her medicine for nothing and you always have a crease between your eyebrows. I don't even know what I'm trying to say here anymore, but I guess that's always been how it is between us. We've always been awkward and don't know how the hell to talk to each other and our favorite jokes always involve farts (whoops, not sorry for that).

I'm just trying to say thanks for getting that I need to be yelled at sometimes and sometimes I'm too stupid to realize what I need.

Thanks for not only being my parent, but for being my friend.

Sincerely,
xx
Blue