“It doesn’t make you carsick?” he asked. “It’s just a sketch,” I said. “And anyway, it’s not me drawing but a stranger inside of me who compels me to draw. When that happens, I have no choice but to draw, even while driving.” “Why do you talk like that?” He was always criticizing me for not sounding more like his mother or older sister. “Why can’t you just say, ‘I feel like drawing, so I have to draw.’ I think you like it when I can’t understand you.”
wtf is wrong with this dude
