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egypturnashA deadline, finally. End of July.
Fluttering around the thought and the seed of worry and fear. Hopes and maybes. Reluctance to commit to doing anything in terms of projects because I'm uncertain what I can do, what i can focus on. Even though I need to do something.
A moment of viciousness prompted by this got back a sharp retort about me lounging around doing nothing for months, and yes, I have been, I only do things when it's the crisis point most of the time. And crisis makes me fall apart after a little while.
Maybe some time back in New Orleans and some ass-kicking from my mother, who is not quite so easily swayed by my cuteness, is what I need. I dunno. I'm tired of being the poster child for Squandered Potential but I have no clue how to stop. Change is hard. Especially when you have no real idea what you want to be.
So I slip back into the same circular arguments I can do for days... the old doubts and self-reassurances about transition, my usual self-defeatism.
And I need to remember the good things. I mean, I just had the realization the day before yesterday that despite all my efforts to hide, I'm Somebody in the world of furry art. A small pond, perhaps. A dubious honor given all the things connected with furry art. But I find myself looked up to by younger artists, and respected by peers whose skills often humble me. It doesn't translate into money - but I aggressively dodge attempts for it to do that; people ask if I'm doing commissions and I say "no". I can't blame anyone but myself.
I still want to hide and hope the problems go away. It's never worked. But I keep wanting to.
Fluttering around the thought and the seed of worry and fear. Hopes and maybes. Reluctance to commit to doing anything in terms of projects because I'm uncertain what I can do, what i can focus on. Even though I need to do something.
A moment of viciousness prompted by this got back a sharp retort about me lounging around doing nothing for months, and yes, I have been, I only do things when it's the crisis point most of the time. And crisis makes me fall apart after a little while.
Maybe some time back in New Orleans and some ass-kicking from my mother, who is not quite so easily swayed by my cuteness, is what I need. I dunno. I'm tired of being the poster child for Squandered Potential but I have no clue how to stop. Change is hard. Especially when you have no real idea what you want to be.
So I slip back into the same circular arguments I can do for days... the old doubts and self-reassurances about transition, my usual self-defeatism.
And I need to remember the good things. I mean, I just had the realization the day before yesterday that despite all my efforts to hide, I'm Somebody in the world of furry art. A small pond, perhaps. A dubious honor given all the things connected with furry art. But I find myself looked up to by younger artists, and respected by peers whose skills often humble me. It doesn't translate into money - but I aggressively dodge attempts for it to do that; people ask if I'm doing commissions and I say "no". I can't blame anyone but myself.
I still want to hide and hope the problems go away. It's never worked. But I keep wanting to.