Life is a seesaw between fantastic and frazzlement. Kevin scored some seriously great tickets for next month, I got to see Carlota and have lunch with buddy Linda whom I haven’t seen in a dog’s age, I found a very reasonably priced carving of a Balinese guard frog…that’s all pure awesome. But I’ve got a con this weekend and I’m only half prepared, and the last Dragonbreath illos are due Monday, and I’m still slammed with orders and commissions and whatnot, and I haven’t had time to do any real, decent, meaningful art for months on end, and I’m feeling that nasty non-productive itch about it, despite the fact that all I do is paint.
And stuff still isn’t unpacked and the house is a mess and the library isn’t painted and one of the cats is acting out in that unfortunate urinary fashion that cats have, and took out a couple of prints and a t-shirt in the process, and it’s a damn good thing I didn’t catch him in the act or I’d be taking him down to the river with a sack and a large rock.* (I suspect I know who it was, and in fairness, he’s the whipping boy for the entire household, so I don’t think it’s so much an acting out or a bladder problem as a "If I go to a litter box, somebody is lying in wait and will smack me around." He is low-cat on the totem pole, and if anybody gets grumpy at anybody else, ultimately Winston gets smacked. He really needs a new home with only one or two other cats, rather than our horde, so if anybody’s looking for a young neutered male, good with cats, dogs, and kids, offers no violence to anyone…)
Anyway. I am at the end of my rope today, because of all the frazzlement, and yet I feel guilty about it because my life is so good in many ways, what right do I have to feel like One More Thing will send me into a killing rage?
Does that make any sense?
*Okay, okay, you KNOW I’d never do that, but goddamnit, you pee on my stuff at your peril…