It is possible, entirely possible, that I am trying to draw attention to myself.
Or maybe I just had too much scrap wood and eight baby chicks living in my spare room.
Who’s to say that I just had a fit of nostalgia upon realizing that the babies’ sandboat was a weed-laden home for black widows. Who’s to say that it wasn’t the force of sentimentality that caused me to launch it upon the roof of the already-leaning chicken coop? (Yes, I am still bragging about that.)
Subject: Re: IMG00243.jpg
Sent: Mar 16, 2010 5:05 PM
So, the name change:
There is always something interesting about everything. Something that catches us off guard. I consider these tiny doses of “?!?…!…” to be prizes. They console me and in doing so prove how far from inconsolable any of us are…
if we are interested in consolation, there are prizes to be had.
I document mine here. Daily drawings are a constant source of surprise. Sometimes what I end up with on paper is so far from what I intended that I laugh out loud…
I wonder if, we imagine ourselves to be happy as our culture defines it, a success by all means and measures…if stop seeking consolation, holding the “prize” as we are…
Which is really a washer and dryer you didn’t need anyway?
Stupid Door #1 Grand Prize Winner!!!
I’m happy I didn’t win. Viva la Failure!
(“Sent From My Horizon Wireless Blackberry” – this strikes me as hilarious; I am ridiculous.)
show details Mar 15 (1 day ago)
…Not ever what we really wanted, but better than nothing.
I am an expert on this subject.
Ah, good old emailing myself. Not as brilliant seeming as it used to seem. But, what is?
It stopped seeming brilliant when I realized I could blog direct from this device. I am still somewhat non-believing about technology and the awesome power of the hand-held device. I need to leave this thing at home sometimes.
My parents are phobic of quickly-changing technology. Any sort of speed in general seems to alarm them. They are slow people. Really. I asked a friend/coworker today about whether or she would read over a 100,000 words if they were written by her son or daughter, both young adults and loved with the ferocious love of an empty nest being settled into.
She stammered a little: “How many?…a hundred thousand?…no, that’s too many. Maybe if you – she – cut out portions that she really liked and then gave them to me to read…but, it’s really an issue of quantity.”
“What if she kept a three-time per week weblog, would you look at her posts?”
“Three times a week!? That’s too much…no, it’s really just an issue of quantity.”
This exchanged actually made me feel, if not better, better-ish. So what if my parents don’t care if I am wickedly prolific in some endeavors. Who cares that they don’t seem the least bit impressed by the fact that I haven’t quit this…that drawing everyday for a year is turning out to be a piece of cake.
Really, it’s not that big a chore. There are millions of ba-jillions of middle-school kids that draw all day every day…
But they draw cause they want to…and then they stop…except for a few…they keep drawing, become amazing in some way that the rest of us in our thirties enviously feels is a testament to the enormous amounts of time that we, ourselves, have wasted doing things that bum us out.
I hardly ever want to draw, but I draw anyway. Everyday. Because I don’t want to waste any/more time.
this was supposed to be about consolation prizes. My mom doesn’t read this.
My dad thinks it is a waste of time.
(I am learning to shrug valiantly.)