June 29th, 2003

2020 lack of vision

addiction, empty evenings

Spent much of the end of last week (at work) seeing how fast I could produce cartoons to illustrate a series of pages which take you through the emotional process of giving up an addiction. I was doing quite well by the end. Watch my stylus move! I expect it'll produce a whole new sort of RSI. While firing off emails to my boss about our currrent, ongoing, hopeless funding crisis ... In the evening struggling with displacement activities (with a 3-page strip due for Naked plus my thingy for Ladyfest I have plenty to displace) like pulling out all my papers from my current work box (why is there a folder of Stomping Scene stuff in there? Where are the masters for all my minicomics?) and putting them in order.

Things go strangeIn the process I found all the weekly strips I'd written which were too rude or too personal (as in, obviously about a certain person) or just too damn depressing. Sometimes I decide there's a safe distance and go back to them, but for these I probably won't. Though the one where my ex-office mate gets eaten by centipedes that crawl out of my head ... anyway, this week's strip isn't one of them.

It's something I drew when I noticed that I hadn't been sleeping too well the past few days, too many dreams and the nagging sense of missing something, which I had initially put down to the pain of missing Glastonbury this year. Wrong! What I was missing was the familiar winding of my stresses into nine neat compartments, embroidering it with jokes and sniggers and fixing it in ink and wash, the feeling of releif as the lines resolve, the satisfaction of scrape, shake, ache ...

... and I was worried that I wasn't qualified to talk about addiction ...
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