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The Dog advice

My dog barks all night! "Why won't you sleep at night?" - I ask, irritateted "Why don't you?" - he talks back Horrified, I sit back! He notices that I don't sleep at night too? Is he judging me?  "Why would I judge you?" - he says, reading my mind - I'm your dog! You could eat dirt and I'd still think you're the coolest person" That's a relief, although I might eat dirt infront of him to check if he's lying. I kind of have a problem with honest compliments... I worry if that's just plain lie. "So do you keep thinking about what life would be like after 10 years?" - he asked "Not tonight, I'm not" - I said "You think how everyone around you have it all figured out, and you just feel claustrophobic to even think about committing to something!" - he asked. "You shouldn't attack me like that at 2 am" - I said,my eyes tearing up. "You think you're a shell of a pers...
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The Muse

Remember the time you received a compliment that stuck with you? A compliment that literally changed the course of your life? The one small, rare time someone saw through you and gave you what you wanted? Attention, curiosity, and utmost interest? 
"Why are you obsessed with art? All the scribbles on the corners of your science notebooks? Paint, up and down the big white walls?
The unhealthy obsession with books and pens? What caused all that? "
Well... A compliment, actually.
I was too young to understand everything else, but old enough to know I was a troublemaker. A child who wrecked things and made loud noises. My dad was the type of guy you see on television. Tough, Tall, well-built, and serious. You don't play around with men like him.
  One day, I came back from school, sat down ,took a white sheet of paper and started drawing something. 
This quirk was yet another thing I would have abandoned if not for my dad.
Before I could finish and look back at it with disappointment and think to myself -"Nah.. this isn't for me. I'm never touching the pen again", my dad looked over my shoulder, and into the mess I created and told me these exact words: "That's beautiful . You're really good at this. Back in the day, I used to draw just like you". The man who saw the negatives in everything, liked what I drew? Did the man people don't talk back to say he was just like me?
Everything I drew since has been for him. To impress him. Even though he never saw what I drew again, because I grew up to be more secretive in nature, it's always been for him. For the man that made me fall in love with art, everything I do is for you. The Muse is always You!
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