Sorry guys, boring day. Had decided to start discretely sketching instead of wasting time on reddit or Pinterest, but then my mechanical pencil broke. I was actually enjoying my afternoon, until now. Must remember to bring more pencils to work. I’m disappointed because not only am I going to have to spend the rest of the afternoon staring at a screen, but also because I actually was liking the way this sketch was turning out. Bah.
“The puddles looked like holes in the dark sand, apertures onto some other heavens that were gliding past underground.” (Nabokov, “Sounds”)
Naw, not actually anxious. Just wishing to be home, rather than at work – although, come to think of it, if I didn’t feel that way it would likely be cause for some alarm.
Feeling quite significantly better than I was this time yesterday; I won’t go into details except to say that I don’t know how people don’t write. If I didn’t write, my brain would be a huge jumbled mess that I would never want to tackle because of the backlog of unresolved, unanalyzed, and ignored problems. Writing is the thing I do to understand myself; how do people who don’t write understand their motives and impulses and feelings? Oh well – at any rate, wrote a bunch yesterday and feel better today. Also got some work done on my quilt yesterday, after cleaning the kitchen and making homemade pizza, so it was a good evening.
I’ve been thinking about delving into oil pastels or watercolors again. Or both? I haven’t really mixed mediums before (except for watercolors and acrylics and I was never any good at that at all). Didn’t last night because the quilt was just right there, asking for me to work on it (plus I put on How I Met Your Mother and that show isn’t particularly conducive to artistic creativity). But anyway. I may go home today and watch Babette’s Feast or a Wes Anderson movie, and do some oil pastel-ing. Wonder if I have any blank canvases. Hm.
No Promises This Time 