As of today, I am officially taking offence to any mention of “rat” or “snake” associated with human shortcomings.
Dad sent me the speech he wrote for his mom’s 95th birthday celebration. I love it! 🥰🥰🥰 He also sent me a poem, but I don’t know when he wrote it or if that’s his first one. I will have to ask. Dad’s writing poems yo!!! Learned something about him I didn’t know.
I read somewhere that we are all writers. I believe that to be true, just like I believe we are all poets and artists.
There is a truth I don’t like to admit to myself. I prefer to start projects than finish them. The start is always fun and exciting, filled with unknowns, challenges, and possibilities. This may be why returning to finish creative work bugs me. Funny though, I don’t feel the same with career work, maybe because others depend on me and I am not just answering to myself?
If I have that attitude towards career stuff, I should also bring it to personal things, right? But how? Maybe look at my passion projects with a professional eye? I will figure it out – in the meantime, I will finish what I start, in most cases.
Am I trying to do too many things? But I’m interested in everything I am trying to do – ugh! If I said I didn’t have enough time in the day to contribute to all my loves, I’d be a liar. What stops me sometimes? I don’t know! It might be a mood thing, but I have to find a way. I feel like I wasted my weekend. I was reading more than writing and drawing.
As for my current projects, I think working with smooth ink wasn’t a good idea, or maybe ink in general. Perhaps smooth ink is best for architectural drawings, cityscapes, for example. I am not sure. Trying with a non-smooth pen called Ink Bleed and adding colour. (hmmm … feels new again 🙂 )
And my sonnet is shaping up … slowly.
Actually … I think I know what to do. I give myself deadlines at work and usually stick to them unless I underestimate something or I am waiting. I will try deadlines for art stuff too.
Did I ever tell you about the guy I used to work with who didn’t blink? It was difficult talking to him because I’d always be wondering how that’s possible and if his eyes don’t get dry, and I’d lose my train of thought. He probably thought something was wrong with me. I am fine, except … the thing that’s wrong with you is affecting me. How often in our lives does that happen?
You should read The Hero With A Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell.
I love you!
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