Second guesses

Initially, I pulled back from the artistic endeavor I was about to approach. Getting ready to test how some ink would react to watercolors, I changed my mind and came to write instead.

I either pulled back because I suddenly wanted dedicated watercolor "dishes" (so I wouldn't be putting paint-water in anything that didn't belong to me), or because I didn't want to draw the horse. Horses are hard.

But the horse argument is a cop-out, and I could use the abandoned mug in the bathroom without fear.

Instead of pulling paints and paper back out, though, I'm here, writing.

I have mixed feelings about blogging right now, especially as extensively as I've done in the past. The motivations and rewards are entirely internal, as usual, but neither side is huge right now. Contributing factors include a) backlog, b) talking (out loud) about my day more, and c) writing things I want to say here in letters to Reagan.

In truth, right now it's one long letter on three sheets with four greetings, two closures, and a lot of drawings thrown in. True to form, I put lots of arrows and notes all over it and wrote in chunks that don't have to be read in a linear fashion, some of them sideways.

There are some things I only talk to Reagan about, and writing down things I usually say out loud seems to take words away from the things I would normally write about. Or something.

Talking about it makes me miss him.

Why-oh-why are cop shows so pun-intensive?

I'm not feeling like myself, but instead of the normal formula of not feeling like myself (which, I suppose, is more like the part-time version of feeling like myself), it's an off-brand concoction, unfamiliar. Compressed and oppressed in so many cliche ways. Time ripples through my days in an illusory way; I have no sense of chrono-depth perception, and can't tell how fast I travel.

C'est la vie.

I feel like I got something done today, but for the life of me can't tell you what. Three hours were spent at an acquaintance's home playing board games. That was fun, but not what I'm thinking of.

Rare Moment Alone

carpet grinds into elbows
teeth grind each other flat
sweaty palms hold
heavy head

drip, the faucet
chirp, the black-headed grosbeak
drone of trucks
matching drone of fans

cramped and bloodless legs
hunched, unsanctioned lotus
an unexpected
meditation

Cheetalope:



Cribbed off photos more than usual.

I prefer the (mental) image of deer antlers, but it doesn't especially fit the setting. And they're harder to draw. :X