I hate summer. Towards the end of June, I always get depressed. Perhaps it was all the half naked bodies obnoxiously having fun on MTV Spring Break Beachouse productions during my child and teen years when I had little to do but watch television and play street tennis in the sweltering Alabama heat for short bursts until the sun chased me back inside. Boo hoo. But that melancholy I felt as a teenager has stayed with me all these years, and last week I could barely get out of bed. Plus, my studio at school is on different hours--my schedule has run amok. And to add more vitriol, my new painting hasn't been going so well. But I kept my head down and continued picking up the brushes and hating and loving the process. And I came up with its current condition, which I'm growing to like a little.