There are days when you do what you do and you wonder why you do it. Days spent gluing bits and bobs to other bits and bobs, splashing paint about, listening to your gremlin ponder just so you can write his words down and destroy them in the name of making. . . well, stuff, because the little green bastard will be the first to inform you that you ain't no artist. (After all, an artist can draw a horse. From memory. And make it look just like a photograph. Yeah.)
There are days when you look at how much you spend a month on postage, how much time you spend on-line, essentially talking to yourself because of how much is missing from the e-mail experience, participating in wht you are aware is a grand illusion of relationship that feels very real on your end of the machine, and presumably feels truly real on the other side of the screen as well, but you'll never really know, now will you?
There are days that you spend searching out new (at least to you) techniques and methods of assemblage and texture and words to pull them all together with, hunting for that pattern you saw just last week (and can't rememeber anything about but the way the colors melded and this would be just perfect for this project now, but looking for "green" and "blue" and "yellow" and "doors" just leads you to porn sites) and darn it all, it was just here somewhere, and you remember you found the link on someone's blog that led you to someone else's blog and well, crap. Maybe something in the history cache will jog your mind . . . oh. Right, you just cleared that five minutes ago to get the latest version of that other site that you visit once a week on average.
But then there are days when your mailbox bursts with postcards from people you correspond with, and some of those cards were made by hand, and some of those cards have witty messages, and then there are the envelopes from countries you never heard about with ATC's in them from people who found you from a group somewhere and wanted to swap, and then there are envelopes packed with decos to admire, work in, and pass along on their flight path--or out into the wide world.
Yes. There are days.