But instead of reading when I couldn’t sleep, I found myself trying to recreate the experience I had the night I made the ink drawings. Sometimes it worked and when it did, my sleep was deep and dream-free. When it didn’t, however, I lay awake frustrated or floated in a strange sort of half-sleep that was almost worse than the nightmares. It was during one of these nights of sleeplessness that I recalled Adelle’s observation about labyrinths and meditation. She had suggested color. And then there was Laura’s suggestion of a creative outlet. I knew I would never again draw. And I had no desire to take an art class. But the idea of something like painting—something new with no ties to the past—sounded appealing. Or, at least, it did until the next day when I found myself wandering through the art supplies section of the student union bookstore. Almost immediately I realized that I had no idea what I was looking for or what I was going to do with it once I found it. Forgotten grade school memories of construction paper, minty-smelling paste, and thick poster paints came to mind as I walked down one of the aisles.
