Hello there. My name is Steve, I’m six-pack drunk and filled to the brim with pizza and cheese sticks. I’m writing here through a fog of alcohol and saturated fats. Wish me luck.
I’m but a few days from birthday 43. I’m on the fifth (?) day of vacation on an 11-day vacation. I’m outta town. Some of it is checking on ma, who is doing well, and some is just me getting away. The past four days have been a delight what with all the vistas, internal introspection and deep thoughts, and getting away from the routine so as to refine the routine always is welcome after a few years of routines. As to the booze and overeating, well, fuck, it was supposed to be art and exercise. I mixed up some of the essentials. I’ll try harder next time.
Remember how I said I’d get all the things done with catharsis on top? Compromises were made. Turns out I did lots of parcels of each larger project I was initially attempting. I traveled just fine, but the part about fiscally, maybe not so much. Finishing finals, Sure! valiant efforts were made for a chronic procrastinator neglectful careless student. Ooops. Might have failed a test. When I say Might, I def did. Visited ma. Meant to do some art, mixed-up art with boozing. meant to, I dunno, do more responsible things, played it by ear, and … here I am, trying to compensate.
Am I full of giult? Fuuuuck, I might be a lil too enebriated for that at the moment. Will I feel it later/ Fuck yes, good news is, I will overcompensate the fuck outta myself. Exercise, arts, responsibilities. The whole gammit, at least until responsibility fatigue sets in. Then back to the norm of carnality.
“want” has been on my mind a lot this trip. I find I am “want” for very few things. I’m surviving just fine. I am sheltered, fed, and allotted enough free time for indulgent sins. What more can a guy ask for? I’ve been struggling to answer that one. Pretty hard. I’m not married, I’m without kids, obligations are pretty minimal. By design. And with all this room, I’m fuck all how I want to fill it. At least responsibly.
What do I want? I mean really, the kind of want you are prepared to grind through. And fuck all, I’m not sure. Art is on there, but in measure small doses. I’m way more used to all or nothing with artistic pursuits. Writing here, oh, the temptation to do writing each week, or two, or every day is there. But is the want to commit to that enough past burn out a thing. There’s school? Eye-rolling school, which degree is worth a shit? Whichever is easiest to attain and earns the most money? yeah… That’s the one.
Women, which is ever easiest. . . I’ll also accept the one that offers me the most meaning. Kids? At this age and at my wage, likely not. Who knows, maybe a rich lady with a mid-life crisis will appreciate a sperm doner of my magnitude.No. Like the rest of the things in life, smaller seems better.
Mom wanted to do something special for the birthday. Me, I’m not feeling it. The whole thing feels like committing myself to a ceremony I do not want to satisfy people or traditions I could care less about. Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve spent a long time trying to figure out what makes me happiest, turns out its a little ceremony of me and a few sins that are rare but that I learned to appreciate. Booze is in there, the occasional girlfriend too, and, fuck, laziness has always been a thing.
So, I’m… Where am I? What am I doing? Why am I doing it? The fuck is my deal?
Who knows anymore? A few people care. I know well enough as soon as I stop caring, I’m done for. Better pull my ship together so I can do someone proud somehow.
There’s some melodrama. You know, cause drama sells… Keeps things interesting… Or some shit.
One more day of work and I’m off for about three weeks of vacation. I’m hanging a lot of hopes on this vacation. Let’s go down the list, shall we?
I will need to finish up this semester’s finals. The house will be repaired and cleaned. Gonna road trip back east and check on family. Gonna art e’ry day! Going to stop off in old stomping grounds, drink in nostalgia, and take pictures. Go on hikes and revel in the greenery. Gonna smoke pot, nip on the local wine. And somehow, find time to be the laziest mofo you ever did see.
Can it be done? Really? All of it? Sources point to, honestly, doubtful. But these ambitions sure do get me through the tough as nails workdays. And the dreams lull me into a place of peace, so I’m not about to dispense with those.
I will do as I always do and play it by ear. Improv my way through each day and be sure to savor every moment outside of drudgery. I will recharge. I will endure.
Maybe, time permitting, I’ll have enough time to scribble up an escape plan. I’ll make for the coast, refurb a boat, and make my getaway a la Shawshank style.
So, I got me a life long art habit. I’m plenty good at what I do. Do I do it enough and reliably? Well… there’s always room for improvement. That’s life. Do I know what I want to do with it? Life or art? Feels like a no. Will I stop living or arting… Also, no. Or, for a macabre joke, “eventually”.
Mmkay, less me more art. Lemme introduce you to Greta. She’s the star of the next book. It’s a simple little thing about her and her day, daily to-do’s and not do’s. Simple pimple. As to why the book is 60 pages… cause I might need to cull it some. Sketches and storyboard soon to follow.
Soon after Greta’s book is released and being produced at the same time it is book… 5… I think. Tentative title still in the works, as are characters and script. This here is gonna be another simpler book for a younger audience. Pretty basic stuff, shapes, numbers, and letters but with charming art.
And, as always, the GIANT pics for our main book are still in the works. I get a nagging feeling that I’m being overly ambitious with these but at the same time I feel like quality is one of my selling points. So, compromise will have to wait.
Lastly, worrying about building an audience is the most effort I’ve dedicated to actually building an audience. So, yeah, I got that to worry about too.