I've been hired to paint a new mural for a local company. When I say "hired," I mean, "contracted for no money, my only payment being the supplies I'll use to paint it and the hope of a good amount of exposure." You know: Hired.

I competed to get the job, and petitioned fairly persuasively, so when I got it, the first thing I did, naturally, was to begin the process of procrastination. Yay! Procrastination, the artist's best friend!

As soon as I learned I was "hired," I sent out invitations to a lot of old, familiar friends to come and throw a festival in my head. We had a couple of drinks, and then they gathered 'round the piano and broke into their favorite song, entitled, "Cling Fast to Obscurity (It Keeps You From Being Outed as a Fraud)." Sing it with me, won't you?

Anyway, after a productive week of procrastination, I sat down this evening to paint. It started out well, in that I had all the necessary materials. Paint, all that. Canvas. I developed the palette to work with (very attractive!) and to bolster my confidence, went to the company website to see what their old mural looks like. After acquiring a healthy dose of the I Can Do Thats, I started to paint.

Two hours later, I'm looking at something I hate. I don't know what it is. It's mediocre. And you know why? Because I'm not a painter. Yet I persist in telling people that I am! Curious. Explore.

So, what am I going to do? I don't know. Leave it to dry overnight, wake up tomorrow, realize that my painting is actually a work of rare and unheralded genius. Or maybe leave it to dry overnight and then fix it tomorrow. That's more likely. Alternately: huck it out the hatch and hope a passing waterspout picks it up and shreds it into confetti. You have to "harness" that natural energy, or it all goes to waste.

So, I don't love this painting, and I can't figure out exactly what's wrong with it, but it's still better than what they have, which looks like a stick figure lounging beneath an exploding fried egg. (Really.) I'm just afraid that I'll call the lady tomorrow, and show her the painting and watch her face fall when she sees how I've interpreted her "vision." I picture her giving me detailed and critical notes about how to fix it, and me not understanding a word, because I've never been to art school and hence am not really an artist and should huck these brushes into the waterspout, and go to night school, for like, an Associates degree in small engine repair. (Do you want to make more money? Sure! We all do!)

OK, I am now just indulging in psyching myself out. It's kind of fun, actually, to imagine how badly someone could criticize me. You try. No, really, now you try. On yourself. I've had enough for tonight.

Star of the day. . .Sally Struthers