this is my every day.
seriously. in the wee hours, i’m all like, “today will be different!”
by lunchtime i am just another one of the dancing monkeys.
i do like how this one turned out. but i would also re-do it if i could. once that ink is on there–it doesn’t like to change it’s course. that’s why i work in ink rather than watercolors. i like the unforgiving nature of ink–forcing me to live with my mistakes.
update: i did find my missing comics. i found them while looking for a missing pen. i recently unclogged one of my old rapidograph pens after years of it not working.
and now i can’t find it.
it is somewhere nearby…drying out…again.
why do i choose difficult art supplies? maybe for the same reason i birthed difficult children.
i really don’t know…i just know i love them (my pens & my minions.)
i feel like i’ve lost the right words
i’ve used my quota. used all
my best words for all my
worst days. & now i have all
the wrong words but my head
i published this journal entry with this illustration:
only to realize I PUT MY HANDS ON BACKWARDS…which, normally, y’all–i like to live with my mistakes. but goddammit, my hands are on backwards and that was just way too much for me to sit back & hope no one noticed. because if someone noticed, then they would think i did not realize i had my hands on backwards.
so i hastily removed it from all social medias (tumblr, eatsleepdraw, facebook, & here.) all sweaty & aghast.
plus, when i put it up on facebook, i was all sad because no one was looking at it. then i realized i had made all of my posts “private.” so while i was hating the world for not seeing me–i actually wasn’t visible to them.
hahahahaha…no, i’m not a mess (yes, i’m a mess.)
but, you know, it’s not like facebook was lighting up even after i went back to “public” posts.
however, this post had gotten a lot of notice here & on tumblr & on eatsleepdraw. so maybe i should have just edited it instead of deleting it.
well, hope y’all also enjoy my ocd version!
i have a wicked head cold.
which might be responsible for this inking & its title.
which may have been a psychosomatic response to my letting dusty move back in.
i can barely breathe.
i can barely think.
my functionality is pretty limited.
it might be a defense mechanism of mine.
i was once sick for a month straight in one doomed relationship.
i can’t remember which one.
it’s like my body says, “this is bullshit.”
and shuts down.
my immune system gives up on me.
or thinks, “maybe this will get her attention.”
how many times can i fuck up in the exact same way?
maybe that should be the title of my memoirs….