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250 word snippet on (frustrated/frustrating) creativity. ;)
Jessica spent most of the morning sketching. The stack of filled sheets had grown. Near the bottom they were neatly stacked, and held roughs for scenes or portraits, none of them satisfying. Towards the top, the stack sprawled, and the sketches degraded into doodles. Patches of hatching, and bouquets of swirly lines.
After lunch she went for a walk, and to pick up a new sketchpad. Following an impulse, she bought some paints.
Back at home she grew frustrated with the small sheets. Should have thought of that earlier, darnit.
She wanted to call it a day, but... Go on. You know you want to. Do it!
The desk was light and easy to move.
Some hours later the wall was decorated from the ground to as high as she could reach with flowing lines. Tentacles, or vines without leaves. It was a chaos she might have called beautiful if it had no been her own work. And it made her bedroom smell of paint. At least she had not bought varnish that truly stank.
That had been a bad idea. What had ridden her to actually go through with it? The house was not hers. She'd have to paint the wall white again, and who knew how many layers that would take.
Certainly not today, though. She wiped the paint drips off the floor before they could dry completely, and left her window and door wide open while she cleaned the brushes.
I need to get out more.
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