i am sitting here at 2 am with paint under my fingernails and the smell of turpentine is literally making my head spin but i cant stop thinking about my dad and how he used to come home from the factory with grease up to his elbows and his hands were always cracked and bleeding but he never complained once because he was saving every single cent for my med school and here i am at 70 years old finally getting my degree in fine arts and i feel like a total failure even though theyve been gone for twenty years now but i can still see his face when i told him i wanted to paint instead of heal people and it just hurts in a way i cant explain and is that weird?