It runneth over with the devine inspiration of the ages, unable to contain the sweet honeyed necter of the artful touch. Or not. It’s currently forty minutes to midnight, and I have entirely forgotten to have something up before now for today. So then, for the moment at least, creativity is a cup.
I did actually consider letting it tick over… but I have been throwing something up each day for months now, and I do rather think that it would be unfortunate to set such a streak aside for simple laziness. I’ve thrown something up each day, even when it was just some really horrid little thing done in paint because I had not wacom, nor scanner, nor even digital camera to call to hand in order to put up something slightly more significant than that. Why then would I put all of that effort aside for an early bed-time? I’m just thankful that I remembered before it was too late.
‘So’, you ask, ‘Why a cup?’ Tis rather simple, really… even if I should really have probably called it a mug, rather than a cup. The most recent thing I enjoyed food or drink-wise was a cup of coffee, brewed by my loving and adorable husband. It was simply the first thing to pop to mind. Therefore… a cup.
And look, look! I am even drawing inane and boring things in this teensie little sketchbook, and not giving a damn about how it really looks. I’ve even written about here in there, on that page, and it doesn’t worry me a bit. Yes, it sounds like such a silly little thing… but seriously, I find it awesome that I have been able to set aside my fear of ruining the perfectly good pages of that little thing and just draw, well, whatever. Its nice. Its wonderful. Its rather liberating and I deserve a big pat on the back for it. Yay me!
Ok… I really shouldn’t write up posts with half an hour to midnight to go… night all.