Everyone at my table was doing pretty badly, even my friend who's usually just about the greatest artist in the class. But halfway through the period, that really seriously cute girl who sits at the other table lifts up her picture and....
She's a better artist.
I knew it all along, but she'd compliment my works so much that perhaps for a second I believed I was better.
Whatever.
I spent the rest of the period scribbling snakes and Alice-isms and ecstasy all over my picture.
It turns out there are better artists than me, better speakers than me, better writers than me. What does that make me? I'm pink again on that graph, right? Or lower...
My invincibility left.
Logic goes poof when emotions sink in.
A poof-kitty...
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