Once again I find myself experiencing difficulty putting my thoughts down. It’s not that I don’t have thoughts, because I do. I have size-related ideas all the time, every day. I have so many that there are currently one hundred seventeen drafts in my blog admin area. There’s a breakdown betweem brain and typing hand, an issue with motivation. I can work my way out of it, but it’s energy consuming. Contrarywise, I’m not having any difficulties drawing, and I’m participating in Inktober.
Every day of October I’m creating an image with ink, and I’ve—so far—managed to make them all about size differences. No lack of ideas there either. I’m posting the drawings on Twitter and every five drawings I’ll toss them in a blog entry. They are nothing amazing or professional and some of them deviate from my gentle nature and expose a darkness in me, but in the end they are all drawn for fun. Fun is key. Fun is… fundamental.
As I write I’m playing The Blacklist. When I was a child I wanted to be a vampire when I grew up. Or a sniper. I actually imagined sniper school was a special school children attended to become experts at shooting firearms with enough accuracy to snuff out lives from hundreds of feet away. Kinda like a Hogwarts for sharpshooters. Imagine my disappointment when I found out the truth. Vampirism was out as well, since it’s also fiction… but Reddington is a true vampire, and the nine-year-old girl trapped inside me wants to be just like him. Minus the penis, of course. Give me the resources and I’ll be a most excellent, life-sucking justice avenger for my own interests.
What is my interest? A method of shrinking or growing, of course. I believe we’ll likely not survive as a race before a method of shrinking [someone] or growing [myself] is discovered or invented, so my interest must go unfulfilled. But I’ll keep writing, and if one day you never hear from me again it will not be because I “died of cancer” or any such nonsense… it will be because my writing opened up a portal where my tiny man exists and waits for me with tiny, stretched open arms, and I crossed it to hug him and left you all here to… go on without me.
What else? I don’t reckon there’s anything else to report. I’m going to go write about jeans and love and sex and a tiny man at the very center of it all. Have a good almost weekend.