doodled a man.

I don't do this very often.

tv

Wart report? Still shiny.

Maybe a wee bit flatter?

Maybe this is just my life… but does it always seem like there’s a television blaring in the background? Not trying to shun tv completely here, but I’m pretty sick of it. Sometimes I feel like I need to hide from it.

And then there’s Glee, right? And then there’s Supernatural, right?

Seriously, that thing should only be on for two hours a week. But then, sharing a bubble isn’t supposed to be easy.

SLB says: It always has to be about you, doesn’t it?

Me: Well, it is my blog.

SLB: Wherein you give a weekly wart report.

Me: If I feel like it. Sure. I think of it as follow through.

I don't know...

try not to think

Someone told me that clear nail polish is going to cure me of this bump on my right index finger. I guess it’s a wart. It has been there for a while, small but obvious to me. Now it is glossy. I’m trying the clear polish thing. Maybe it will work, if I remember to keep trying. Maybe I’ll just have a shiny wart. Who knows? I’ve never had a wart before.

Sort of makes me want to paint myself green and cackle, but I think that would get old after the first couple of minutes.

Sometimes it’s difficult to obsess over unimportant things. You have to work at slapping back the big juicy reality things that want to ooze all over the frivolity. Occasionally, it helps to make a list.

1. Polish toenails. It’s spring already, and you already dug out the polish for your wart.
2. Read that book over there. You’ve already established that it doesn’t really speak to you. Maybe if you read it you’ll have a better understanding of what you do not like.
3. Call up someone and bitch about the rain.
4. Gesso something. That way it’ll be ready.
5. Tidy the stack of things already covered in gesso. Inventory.
6. Smoke, while thinking about whether or not it’s time to stop smoking. Pick a date and time to stop smoking.
7. Consider that it might be easier to polish your toenails if you lost a few pounds. You haven’t picked a color yet, anyway.
8. If you gesso over the pages of that book, it might make a good art journal. Why are you so appalled by the notion of gesso-ing over someone else’s words?
9. Blow your nose again. You’re breathing too loud.
10. Stare at your shiny wart.

What do you do when you can’t fix a tragedy?

Rambleday...

Rambleday… Yes.

I’ve been thinking lately about my reading habits. I never really thought about this at all until I started writing down what I was reading.

Sure, I have always been a reader, but for the first half and a bit of last year I was reading everything, anything. A lot. Good stuff, bad stuff. I challenged myself to make it through books that I never would have picked up before. I wanted to try everything.

Then August came, and something happened. Well, I should actually say that nothing happened. I tried to read, had plenty of things to read… and yet I couldn’t get past thirty pages of anything. I spent the last four months of the year failing to read. Much.

Honestly, though, I don’t even think I would have noticed that I wasn’t reading if I hadn’t spent the first half (and a bit) of the year obsessively keeping track of what I was trying to cram into my brain. I say this because when I try to look back on my habits before I started writing it all down, I find some pretty big gaps.

Is this failure?

I’ve decided that it isn’t, even though the little ball of self loathing that resides within me would argue. 

Self Loathing Ball: You have no follow through.

Me: Sometimes.

SLB: How can you say you love books so much when you often ignore them? There are books right over there. Why haven’t you read them yet?

Me: I tried. They just didn’t… (Fighting the urge to run here.)

SLB: Didn’t what? You might have learned something from those books by now. Stop doodling. That shit’s not getting you anywhere.

Me: (Closing art journal.) Honestly, if I really had any interest in reading those books over there I could make time for reading them. And for doodling. And for meaningful things. Good lord. I do suck.

SLB: At one point in time, you were actually trying to write, yeah? I mean, not that you were great or anything, but didn’t you do that for years or something? What happened to that?

Me: I hate you, aspect of me.

SLB: WINNING. Anyway, back to those books you haven’t read. Haven’t you been sitting there for about a week wishing you had something to read? VIOLA.

Me: Seems as though I need to fall in love with the first thirty pages of a book for reading to happen these days.

SLB: So that’s why you read, let’s see… twelve books from that not so great series about a month ago?

Me: I broke up with that series!

SLB: Twelve books in?

Me: I don’t want to deal with you right now… (Doodling.)

So, yes, I went to youtube and spent a good little while watching Human Centipede – The Musical this morning. That pretty much solved everything.

doodling with a hammer...

Ever have one of those days, maybe weeks, where you want to fling red paint at everything?

Art Journal Scratches...

I started a new art journal in March. Something about just the idea of spring I suppose, or just any excuse for crayons and such...

Just now, at 40, coming to terms with the fact that I just don't journal well with words. I write the words, but they aren't enough. They have to be painted over or covered in gesso and sketched upon.

Here's to figuring something out.

Sometimes life conspires to make a girl love her cave...

Sunday Rah #1 One Bloody Thing After Another

One Bloody Thing After Another



What can I say about this book? It grabbed me, shook me, and left me haunted.

I went into it with no real expectations, just vaguely attracted by the gorgeous cover art and a short description that was sort of telling, but which in no way lead me to believe I would love this book as much as I do. Unfortunately, I haven't read any of Comeau's other work, but I do plan to remedy that as soon as possible.

This is not a long book, but it is dense with life. As I said, It grabbed me from the start and pulled me in. I identified with each of the main characters. The writing drops you right into something happening, and from that first incident it does not let up, but it is not your usual thrill ride. It's the thrill ride next door. Or maybe it feels a bit more familiar than that, absurd and poetic as it seems. To me, it feels real.

Here's my problem... I don't want to spoil it. The title link at the top will take you to the Goodreads page, and a description. Go there if you will, if one person standing here and shouting, "JUST READ IT!" isn't enough. I'll understand. I'm just the cheerleader.

Thanks go to NetGalley for providing a digital galley.

The Sunday What?

What is the Sunday Rah?

I mentioned in a previous post that I really can’t seem to make myself write reviews for books because I don’t want to be a critic and because, well, I’m always torn over one thing or another... I fear that with an actual attempt at a review I would probably just ramble on for far too long, most likely arguing with myself.

I also mentioned that while I don’t necessarily feel comfortable reviewing, I sometimes feel the need to pull out the stringy old black pompoms and cheer for books that have moved me. Books that haunt me, stir me up, touch my nostalgia button, or even piss me off in an effective way all fit into this category, motivating me to step forth and shake my dusty cobwebs.

The Sunday Rah is my way of sharing those books with you without having to go through telling you that this is just my opinion, and is probably highly personal. It is also my way to throw out a bit of a plug as a thank you to the authors who have stirred my emotions.