I jotted this down in my notes in July, at around two in the morning, after a rather disappointing experience with a can of silly string so blocked up that, rather than really spraying out, it just kinda fell limply in a two foot arc downward. Have a nice day.
Back on the comics wagon, and really, wishing I owned an actual wagon. It’d be pretty fucking rad to ride around everywhere in a wagon, growing a big fat mustache. I’d feel pretty bad for the horses though, so if I could replace them with robot horses or something, that would be even better. They’d go faster too, probably.
Well, nap time and then filling in more job applications time, I guess.
I hope this is the year I stop constantly feeling like I have a lump in my throat.
I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to talk to strangers.
I hope this is the year I don’t get scared and overwhelmed whenever the slightest thing changes.
I hope this is the year I stop spending hours staring blankly at my computer screen, too anxious to start anything, and too afraid to finish.
I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to answer the phone.
I hope that one day I’ll be able to look forward to things, and not want to bury my head or run away.
I want to not feel afraid to reach out and ask for help when I need it. Not to constantly feel like I can’t find the words any more, and not to stutter.
On my birthday last year, I watched a movie with my dad and then hung out in a bar for an hour and a half with the small handfull of acquaintances that showed up off of a brief public message on facebook.
Now, as I type this, it’s six in the morning, and I’m sleeping on the third or fourth couch I’ve been on since the beginning of June (though a disproportionate amount of the month I spent with my friend Brett, author of Owner of Cat, to whom I’ve very grateful). There’s somebody snoring on the other side of the living room, and it is humid. I can hear grasshoppers chirp, and the sky is starting to get blue, and I’ve been sitting for hours trying to figure out what, something, anything, I could say in summation of the last year of my life, and becoming afraid that I wasted too much time hiding in my room, too afraid to go outside.
I don’t know if I can fix any of that, but I think at this point I would settle for once, just once, not being afraid of today.
Here’s the other one I did with pen. It doesn’t look as good as it could, even with me reworking the lines.
I redid the lettering too, mostly because when I inked it, when I did the borders, I had the ruler a couple steps off where it shoulda been and I covered part of a line and it wasn’t gonna work. Hurrumph.
For comparison, here’s my original attempt at inking the pencil drawings.
Edit: In hindsight I think I subconsciously stole the punchline, in a roundabout way, from Mike Birbiglia, so really, I think this is a Mike Birbiglia joke. I’m not taking it down because I did it more as an exercise than anything else, and on that level, I think, as a document of attempted work, it’s useful to keep it in place, but I’m pretty sure the joke is something that Birbiglia already did, and I don’t want to look like I’m intentionally stealing his shit, I’m a big fan of his work. And it didn’t occur to me at the time.