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an in-between post
I wanted to be brilliant and write a funny blog post about how Baby Bug is such a girly-girl these days, what with her twirling and wearing a tutu and all the adorable things she does all day long but then I woke up with this horrible sad fog on my brain and it just won’t leave. Why! Why do I do this somedays? And more importantly why am I blogging about it?
Usually the sad fog stems from some little hurt feeling somewhere and all I need to do is find that hurt feeling, give it a swift flick in the ass and move on. But I can’t find the hurt feeling. Sure, little things have happened here and there… like a client didn’t like the logo I made, I’ve almost gained all my gallbladder sickness weight back (ugh. so hate self right now), someone I was expecting an email from didn’t email me back yet, just stuff. Just riff raff in my head like junk in the trunk.
I think I just need to watch a sad movie or something and get the cry out already. I hate it when I’m like this. If I wasn’t a mom I would take myself out to a movie and cry it out in the dark all by myself. I can’t cry around the baby. Besides crying is for wimps and I have bigger and better things to do today. Like my Aunt always said, “Being sad is a luxury you can’t afford.” Plah. Like everything else I can’t afford.
So I’m hoping that I can just share a little here and move on. I also want to say hello and thank you for all the nice comments about my little paintings in the last post. I’m feeling much better about them. I had some super super super cute pictures of baby bug in her tutu to show you but her Daddy decided that the whole internet doesn’t need to see Baby Bug shirtless. So, I’m sorry. You’ll just have to imagine her adorableness.
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travel with me down my road to failure…
Here’s my latest exercise in failure acceptance. It’s so pathetic that I’ve been given this amazing opportunity to have an art gallery showing (for a charity) but I don’t even paint! I mean, I have painted through the years but it’s not my passion. I don’t deserve this. I’ve had friends who painted twelve hours a day and had to be reminded to eat, they loved painting so much. Because I know I don’t deserve this, I am full of insecurity and feeling mighty intimidated. I don’t want to back out but I just don’t think I’m up to snuff.
I seriously think my niece Rapunzel could do a better job. I’m hoping that I can dazzle people with quantity instead of quality. Or maybe the silliness of my cartoonish style will show through and you’ll excuse the thick wobbly lines and smudgy edges. Part of me likes the messiness of these paintings. But part of me knows I can’t really get famous for it. It’s not like I’m trained to paint like Norman Rockwell but I just paint like a five year old for the fun of it. I just need practice. Like years and years of practice. But I don’t have five years. I have two months.
Now that I’m writing this, I realize it seems like I’m fishing for compliments. I’m really not. I’m just voicing my insecurity, hoping to take you all along on my journey towards this gallery showing that is probably going to happen whether I’m ready or not. Everybody likes drama right?