Mannequin legs hanging from the wall. Nailed by the heels, they create the effect of being suspended in space. I don't know why I did it, but somehow, they comfort me being there, detached from all body and context, the pink ballet shoes seamlessly blending into the leggings and the beige wall. This is my world, this is the inside of my mind - a single flat line, drab, unstimulating. Seeing more vibrant colors, seeing the artificiality of "beauty," seeing a well-crafted world - nothing makes me more angry. My nothing is a word unto itself.
Ben and Jessica are over. They both think my mannequin legs are a joke. I try to explain to them that it's not a joke, that the mannequin legs are an extension of my inner world, but they think that this too is a bit of irony. I want to tell them to leave, but instead I offer them a drink.
Later, after they have left, I stare at the wall, and decide that I should paint.