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.