Consecutive days: 2

I spent too much of the morning being internet and too much of the evening in pain for today to be terribly productive on drawing. There are no less than six sore muscles in my right arm and shoulder, so I should try to take it easy.

Drawing is the epic love story that I will live. The past 4 years are enough to prove how on-again, off-again it can be. I hope that my relationship with that part of myself always remains more fraught with peril, frustration, and uneasiness than my marriage. Today I made a note in my sketchbook that in the epic tale of my art, the days when I am into it, and have the time, but cannot partake for soreness in my drawing muscles... these days are the painful throes of a long-distance relationship. There's the facsimile of sketching with my left, but it's just not the same.

The more satisfying creative experience today was cooking dinner. It wasn't anything super special that I spent a lot of time on, but that didn't stop us from eating every bite. Our stable of flavors doesn't vary too much. I think it's cheaper to simply use our standard ingredients in different ways, but don't quote me on that.

Reagan and I have our little rituals surrounding dinner. When I cook, he likes a little bit of notice so he can wrap up his projects and "set the table". I try to give warnings a dozen minutes out, but at the very least he gets a heads up when I'm at the "plating" stage. Yes, every day I cook dinner I place food on plates and try to make it look good. A few nights a week I'm even so proud of the visual aspect of dinner that I'll ask R to turn on the overhead lights so he can see the marvelous creation he's been smelling for the past hour.

Very rarely is he allowed to be in the kitchen while I cook, and on the occasions he is, the Husband is closely watched so he doesn't peek at the ingredients I have laid out, or the dishes that are being cooked.

Scans are in!



I somewhat liked this session of waiting time. Knowing I'm going to post and waiting for the files to be scanned puts me at my computer with a blank screen in front of me and a day of life behind me. Some psychology might say that the compulsion to fill a void is not exactly a good thing.

Fourty-six pages to go in this sketchbook. Not the number I wanted to be announcing at the end of today, but it's less than the number I said yesterday.