Talking in my Sleep


Originally uploaded by suicidenixon

This week I picked up paint and brushes again for the first time in a very long time. I’ve tried a few times in the last year or two, but nothing would come out. I would sit for an hour or two staring at the canvas or paper, globbing paint into forms that seemed alien and painfully askew, and the I would get frustrated and everything would go back into the closet again.

Part of this was the overpowering depression that I was under, part the lack of space and light and time. But a few months ago, I found myself doodling at work again. Doodling had long since dropped from the list of things I did to waste time, and it’s recurrence was rather surprising. In part, I have Eliza Gauger to thank, as she doodled back at me and caused an escalation of creepy doodles left as notes in odd places.

Then, I had a conversation the other night with the boy, and in the frank and honest way he has he drew my attention to the fact that I had been churning out a whole lot of nothing lately. It was like I had nothing to say, but I couldn’t stop talking. Or, I was just lazy. Or maybe I fell into bad habits when I was too depressed to do anything but keep breathing.

He’s right. It’s time to quit coasting.


2 Responses to “Talking in my Sleep”

  1. October 15, 2008 at 11:43 am


    Did we leave that in hell, or did one of us grab it during our exeunts?

  2. 2 nixonsixx
    October 16, 2008 at 10:05 pm

    I got it. And then, I made it a Spore creature…

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