I started to work more in places that..weren't the best. With people who weren't the best either. It really was just the little things at first.
Someone would throw away the drawings I'd make. Sometimes they'd even write on them...and what they had to say wasn't ever any good. I began to be depended on, but that did not mean I was loved. I was tolerated, inside work and out.
I'd started to hear that a lot from people I'd speak with. That uncertain, humoring laugh. " You're so odd! " I worked with people who didn't have any hobbies or dreams. Who talked about sports and the weather one second then cut you down the next. It was vicious...it was sharp...and I was the odd one?
Eventually I stopped going to the art groups. No one wanted to draw with anyone. Imagine that? A whole gathering of artists who didn't want to talk with each other, who didn't want to share. Why were we there? We could've...just stayed home. I saw a lot of that. I began to wonder...is everyone like that now?
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