Love will tear us apart.

In high school I was passionately in love with Ian Curtis. This mostly sucked, considering the fact that Mr. Ian Curtis hung himself a year before I was born. Although: Unrequited love is always so safe and painfully satisfying. My friend B and I would spend months together in the summer, alternating houses, eating nothing but pasta and butter, ripping all the pictures out of my old Art in America magazines and covering our walls. We were fourteen and we were going to go to art school in a big city together. We were going to share an apartment.

B made it to art school. We didn't talk much then. She came home a short time after falling off a cliff [um. she's. okay.] and now she's a nurse, which is a million miles away from artist but - admittedly - much more useful and a thousand times less irritating.

I haven't picked up a paintbrush since I was sixteen.

[and. speaking of artistic ability, Tony has that. He started a blog. Go say hi.