A lot of things have been on my mind lately.
Just kidding. Not really. This week I have been sick. Sick with a fever, initially. And now all that remains is a spasmodic, mind-of-its-own cough that hangs on me like an ancient curse. How is it Thursday? Can someone explain this to me? Is there such a thing as coughs creating rips in time? — because I believe I have experienced this. It has happened. Scientists, I said it first.
Anyway, let’s be honest. I wasn’t going to cough my way to catching a fish this week. It wasn’t in the cards to read someone’s favorite book or ride a hot air balloon. I’m sick. Scratched vinyl. My limitations are many and smell like Ricola. What can I do with all this coughing? I asked myself, wearily, the other day. In an effort to answer, I decided to make cough art.
That’s right, cough art. You’ve heard of it. Summer art camp, grade school. The watery paints? The straw? You blow? I only had oil paints and paint thinner available. But I did have a straw from one of the many capri suns I destroyed yesterday. And so I coughed these out.
Try to ignore the spittle. It did eventually occur to me that potentially inhaling paint thinner up the straw would not do wonders for my health. The project lasted only a few minutes longer, following this revelation.
The paints out, and my coughing quotient momentarily fulfilled, my attention soon shifted to other ambitions. A painting I started last year and last touched almost as long called out to me — I started to work on finishing it. Let me tell you, I’ve been dabbing and coughing on this for hours. It still doesn’t feel done. But it is closer to being finished. And, if I wasn’t typing to appease an audience of friends, there probably wouldn’t be a necklace, or baby’s breath on the corsage. My grandfather’s temples would still glow purple. And my mom’s forearm might still beat she-hulk’s in an alternate universe wrestling match.
So, thank you for being here, for reading this. And stay away from me in person. I am sick.