If A Painting Could Speak

Drip drip drip drip...

Is that a tap dripping?
Or maybe the gutter's leaking?
I hope it's nothing serious!
But then again, it would give me something to do...

Drip drip drip...

sigh

The radio plays quietly, but my brain seems full of white noise.
I can't feel the music, it's having its' own private little cloud of fun over there, in the corner of the room.

Fun.
I remember that.

All I can see now are pictures in my head, as I sit in this lonely bubble, my eyes avoiding all life around me.

Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' stares out at me from my mind's eye...

Hands over ears,
Mouth, exasperatingly agape,
Eyes, wide - with terror?

Head: bald. Presumably through tearing their own hair out...

I'm not sure if it's a male, or female, but I'm sure I know just how they're feeling.

Or do I?

Hands on ears - "What is all this horrible white noise in here?! And what's with all the mess and depression?! Sort this place out!!"

Mouth, gaping: "Arrrggggghhhhhh!!! This is sooooo boring! Get up! DO something!!!"

Eyes wide: "I am incredulous right now, about how you can sit here worrying ALL DAY, and yet, not DO a single thing?!

And no hair?: "Honey, I'm just bald. Stop over-analysing and get over it!"

As the picture fades from my mind, and the sound of the radio (frankly rather annoying) now returns to my sphere of consciousness, I heave a great SIGH...

Damn it! What's a girl to do when she's feelin' blue?

* A strange little part of my brain that I thought I'd share! ;)