Another week down, I guess.

[napoleonherself]

Ballpoint pen, because I just used up the last of my drawing lead.

I'm not drawing again yet. Not really. But I am doodling and sketching random crap (in large part because reading ursulav just makes me want to draw in the hope that someday I'll be half as good as she is). This past week is the first time I've been able to actually do that since what my brain likes to call the Before Time. Before, well, you know.

I've burned out so many times on drawing and comicking, as people from the Snail Dust days will know -- but there were so many, many more times that I didn't burn out, or came back from the burnout, pretty much entirely because of one person. Who now will never bug me to draw more ever again. So, y'know. "There are all these things in my head I wish I had the ability to put on paper" is still locked in eternal battle with "blarg drawing is hard and I'm lazy". But since December, "why bother nothing matters anyway" and "gods this reminds me of Chris make it go away I'm tired of hurting" have joined the fray.

And yet the last weekish I've started making really, really crappy sketchdoodles. So I dunno.


Today I had the second half of an eye doctor appointment, called off last week on account of my eye was watering so much that it was fogging up all the equipment. Today I'm less sick, plus I took some Sudafed, which meant no more sinuses squeezing my eyeball out of my skull. So the nice lady blinded me with bright lights, and put those silly yellow drops in my eyes, and then made with the dilation. Apparently my eyes have finally gotten bad/elongated enough that the tissue alongside the retinas is starting to stretch. It's not torn yet, but it might eventually, which means I'll have to start getting checkups/dilations more often than every fourish years. Stupid defective eyes.

I walked all the way from the Atwater clinic to the bus stop by the union, wearing one of those roll-out dark visor things they give you after they dilate your eyes, because ow the bright. It's not a huge distance, and Fridays on campus are relatively dead so there weren't a ton of people, but I did go through the union and then spend fifteen minutes standing at one of the busiest bus stops on campus. And despite the fact that I knew I looked ridiculous with the dark thingy on, I didn't much care. I've been realizing lately that in little ways like that, I am way better shyness-wise than I was say five years ago. Way, way better. At the same time, though, so what? So I am slightly less useless than I used to be. At the current rate, perhaps in a thousand years I will attain a level of not-useless sufficient to actually pay some fucking attention to people before they die.

No, I'm not happy. I don't know that I've ever really been happy, not as a character trait; only as a temporary state, in the same sense that sometimes I am hungry. I doubt I will ever be happy. Only in the short term, in the temporary, in the sense that "I feel happy right now because I am watching a good movie". Unless, of course, I just drug myself all to hell and back, like everyone seems to want me to. I don't want me to, but I appear to be the only one in that camp. I'll probably give in soon, because that is what I do. Maybe once I'm high on fake happiness I won't hate myself for being such a fucking worthless pushover.

The last paragraph isn't a specific response to any one person, btw. There is just a general trend of undrugged Jenny crimping people's style.

Comments

[nidoking.livejournal.com]

Is happiness ever more than a temporary state? Some people make it last longer than other people do, but I still think it's something you need to strive for and work to maintain.

And I'm on your side with the drugs. They're bad news, and you're better off without them.