Painting above: Xue Wang, Uninvited Guest I can’t believe some of the shit my brain says. I wouldn’t let anyone talk to me the way I talk to myself when I try to paint. Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters I pretend the voice is coming from a person who is standing in the room. I can’t help but laugh and pity them because the person is obviously being such a miserably selfish turd that I can’t even take what they say seriously. Whenever they start up again, I pause and look at them. I check my mood. Why does this keep coming up today? Am I tired? Am I worried about something? How is this effecting my status or concerns? Breathe. Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll do it in a minute… or tomorrow. No really. Breathe. Breathe again. Continue breathing. I try to treat myself as I would a good friend. If I’m too low and that’s difficult, I try to treat myself as a good friend would treat me. Sometimes I’m just bombarded and tired, and I take a tiny nap. If I’m pushing myself too hard it’s likely I’ll wake up feeling better after giving myself a break.