Following that, you weigh yourself and discover that you're fatter than you think you are, swear to never eat again until you're thinner, then promptly develop a craving for coffee and bagels.
So you go get your damn coffee and bagels, hating yourself the whole way. And on the trip to the bagel place you decide to stop in at this hippie store to buy a yoga mat for the stretching you're trying to talk your poor, long-suffering husband into doing, but of course the effing place doesn't open until noon and it's 11:30.
You stomp off and go back home, then get the mail and discover that it's been three months since you rented the cello you barely play, so now you owe another three months' rent on the damn thing, and you can't decide if you're more an idiot for having rented one like three times already, only to take it back, or if you're dumber for not just having kept it, since the only payments that count toward buying one are consecutive ones, so really you'd have almost owned the thing by now, but since you did it so stupidly and sporadically you don't, and then you spend the next four hours in a tug-of-hate with yourself trying to decide what to do.
And you can't even expiate your guilt today, because they're closed. And they'll be closed Monday as well, because it's Labor Day. So you have to just sit and stew about what an idiot you've been until Tuesday, when you either accept that you're never going to do anything useful with it or decide to hell with that and you keep it anyway, despite the fact that you could really use that $200 security deposit back.
Meanwhile, as you're ruminating on this whole situation, you occasionally stare at your latest art and make mental notes on everything that's wrong with it, including smudges, curves that aren't right, flat-out bad decisions, and so forth. Then you feel extra shitty because you bought a digital drawing tablet months ago and are afraid to use it because ??, so you don't, and you stick to traditional media, but you feel like you ought to be using it, since it wasn't cheap.
And then you get into the whole "I'm not an artist, I'm just a hack who occasionally draws garbage on stuff and hopes it isn't awful." Plus the "I'm not a musician either, since I play like three instruments, none of them in a virtuosic way, because I'm lazy and don't care." And "I'm not a dancer either, in spite of taking a bunch of it, because I'm fat and I don't know what I'm doing, and I'll never be a (fill in the blank with some ludicrously high expectation)."
After all this you're incredibly cross, and so you're cranky about everything, and your poor spouse thinks you're upset with him, so he gets upset, and then you have to reassure him that no, you really just hate yourself, and he needn't worry, although he will probably fret anyway because you're sort of exuding self-hate hormones or whatever like some type of evil brain perfume, so he can't help but be a little neurotic by proxy.
I have three pairs of geode wing-shaped earrings. One is black, one is lavender, and one is white. I use them to indicate my mood.
Today is definitely a black wing day.