PERSPECITIVE, PEOPLE. It's a superhero. Perspective differentiates your foreground from your background. Perspective exsanguinates your roads into dental floss, then bloats your dental floss into roads. Perspective takes you from washboard to wahoo! in the 7,865,927,084 seconds it takes you to figure out how to draw anything other than stick figures.
I still can't draw anything other than stick figures.
This despite having agreed, in a moment of mimosa-induced insanity, to attend something called Wine and Canvas, in which you stand around in the downtown of a midsized midwestern city and attempt to copy a painting of puppies or wildflowers or perhaps a disgruntled unicorn whilst tippling.
I think, in retrospect, that the attraction must have been the tippling.
See, lately I've been wondering if my awesome lack of artistic aptitude isn't symbolic: I can't seem to master mental perspective, either. Yes, I'm moving. Yes, I'm (hopefully temporarily) jobless. Yes, I have to sell my washer/dryer set on Craigslist and inventory which cardboard boxes in the basement were mortally wounded in the Great Sewage Overflow of 2010, and somehow divest myself of a small pipe organ.
But other people are dead!
I must fix this thought to my brain like a kick me sign to the back of a recalcitrant babysitter. I hereby resolve to recognize that other people have real problems. They are abused and divorcing and homeless and hungry and maimed.
The things I have are inconveniences. I can't quite stomach the word opportunities, so inconveniences will do for now.
Also, if you would like a slow cooker, a coffee maker, a toaster, any of an assortment of mildly dilapidated furniture, half-eaten pantry staples, a 1970s Rogers pipe organ with full pedal board, a Kenmore washer and dryer set, some ugly refrigerator magnets, pots containing dead plats, a gold fireplace poker, or a chair attached to a combination lock to which no one knows the combination, I'm your woman.