Back to Workposts
My Guts.
A couple hours ago I had a sudden fragmentary shit. Since then, I've felt pretty much continuously nauseous with these rolling shiver-chills. My officemate and Sara are of the opinion that I should just go home and take the rest of the day off work. For whatever reason, though, the part of my brain that asks to leave early due to vague discomforts isn't working. Instead, I'm still here not focusing on much of anything.
Why is it so hard to just go home?
My Progress.
This all gets me thinking about yesterday, which may have been improperly captured in my bland blunt journal about the comic going up. Yesterday I beat New Super Mario Bros. in the lobby of the Hancock Center. There's still plenty I have left to do/unlock, but I feel good inside. It's been a while since I've beaten a video game. Buying them and never finishing them, just like buying books and never finishing them, is a problem for me. It's all probably symptomatic of using shopping to empower myself or materialism run amok.
I also finished for real all my things for school this semester. And speaking of finishing books, I'm on the penultimate chapter of Ulysses, right before the famous soliloquy. After this, Sara and I are planning to read through the whole of Salinger again because, we theorize, it will be good for our souls as human beings. Finishing Ulysses will also mean I've read the whole of James Joyce's fiction, a little thing I started on back in February.
I'm also back from Cincinnati, which means Annual Session is complete and there's little/no work anxiety floating around this place. Deadlines are all vague again and my to-do list is negligible. I should be spending some time thinking about the comic. Last night's was drawn as I was falling asleep at my desk. I was falling asleep almost two hours before my usual bedtime.
Anyway, last night's entry was blunt and dull because I was feeling wound down and scraped out. Getting a comic out of my head lately has been like trying to break one of my own bones. I wound up cleaning some of the office last night, trying to get my workplace to not look like my cluttered mind. At one point I told Sara, "If it doesn't get better soon, I'm quitting the Grind."
Why Did I Even Say That Out Loud?
Now that I've even uncorked that possibility I don't know what to think. On some level, I get the idea that it's just a slump phase and they come and they go and the important thing is to keep producing. On another, I know that I went to all this trouble to put up a snappy-looking site for myself and it really eats at me to have strips that I half-ass or I'm not proud of on it because it seems silly to say "Here's my place, read this and this, but don't look at any of these."
So I've been thinking about changing how I do things. Maybe a higher quality (color?) comic two or three times a week on a schedule and sticking to a cast of characters, while the other days of the Grind-mandated-week I toss off other ideas.
See the point of all this is that lately I'm trying to not be a quitter, even if my stomach's not along for the ride.
A couple hours ago I had a sudden fragmentary shit. Since then, I've felt pretty much continuously nauseous with these rolling shiver-chills. My officemate and Sara are of the opinion that I should just go home and take the rest of the day off work. For whatever reason, though, the part of my brain that asks to leave early due to vague discomforts isn't working. Instead, I'm still here not focusing on much of anything.
Why is it so hard to just go home?
My Progress.
This all gets me thinking about yesterday, which may have been improperly captured in my bland blunt journal about the comic going up. Yesterday I beat New Super Mario Bros. in the lobby of the Hancock Center. There's still plenty I have left to do/unlock, but I feel good inside. It's been a while since I've beaten a video game. Buying them and never finishing them, just like buying books and never finishing them, is a problem for me. It's all probably symptomatic of using shopping to empower myself or materialism run amok.
I also finished for real all my things for school this semester. And speaking of finishing books, I'm on the penultimate chapter of Ulysses, right before the famous soliloquy. After this, Sara and I are planning to read through the whole of Salinger again because, we theorize, it will be good for our souls as human beings. Finishing Ulysses will also mean I've read the whole of James Joyce's fiction, a little thing I started on back in February.
I'm also back from Cincinnati, which means Annual Session is complete and there's little/no work anxiety floating around this place. Deadlines are all vague again and my to-do list is negligible. I should be spending some time thinking about the comic. Last night's was drawn as I was falling asleep at my desk. I was falling asleep almost two hours before my usual bedtime.
Anyway, last night's entry was blunt and dull because I was feeling wound down and scraped out. Getting a comic out of my head lately has been like trying to break one of my own bones. I wound up cleaning some of the office last night, trying to get my workplace to not look like my cluttered mind. At one point I told Sara, "If it doesn't get better soon, I'm quitting the Grind."
Why Did I Even Say That Out Loud?
Now that I've even uncorked that possibility I don't know what to think. On some level, I get the idea that it's just a slump phase and they come and they go and the important thing is to keep producing. On another, I know that I went to all this trouble to put up a snappy-looking site for myself and it really eats at me to have strips that I half-ass or I'm not proud of on it because it seems silly to say "Here's my place, read this and this, but don't look at any of these."
So I've been thinking about changing how I do things. Maybe a higher quality (color?) comic two or three times a week on a schedule and sticking to a cast of characters, while the other days of the Grind-mandated-week I toss off other ideas.
See the point of all this is that lately I'm trying to not be a quitter, even if my stomach's not along for the ride.