The next day, I start work on a new painting. The canvas is huge, I have new brushes, and a truly epic image in my head. But as I start to work, something is amiss. The outline I sketch on the canvas is not very good. I can tell the composition is not right, but I can't figure out why. I shrug and start painting. My dissatisfied frown deepens with every brushstroke. When I stand back to examine the finished product, my skin begins to crawl. The painting is horrible. The composition is chaotic, the lines sloppy, the colors bland and muddy and nauseating. I rip the canvas apart and throw it in the trash, horrified. I must need more sleep, or more vegetables, or something.