As strange as it seems, I loved the days of finding Safety Yellow Epoxy Paint in my hair after a day of work. I miss finding it in my hair four months later. I miss finding it in my hair eleven months later. The other day, I found a strand of hair in my car and guess what? It had yellow paint on it. 

Fourteen months later. 

I also miss coming home from work and being covered with dirt and grime. On the days that I spent in the welding shop, I looked like a freckled chimney sweep. I'd turn the corner of the warehouse to go to the break room and expect to see Mary Poppins, Jane, and Michael--hand in hand and waiting patiently for me to take them to the London rooftops. 

I miss painting. Not just bars, poles, and windows...but actual pictures. I miss the physical act of it. I miss the way it makes your fingers, elbows, and shoulders ache after you've been doing it for hours. I miss finding a long stroke of it on the side of my cheek. I miss being covered in charcoal and graphite from drawing. I miss ink. 

I hope to have a free day at some point next week so that I can open my apartment windows, set up my easel, take out my paints and my beloved jar of Mineral Spirits, set up my canvas, and let loose.