I'm currently illustrating a book about the elements. I can't really say much else because, well, that's how it works in pre-publication. I'm not really allowed to talk about it, show it to anyone, or discuss the story. All part of the whole non-disclosure and being sworn to secrecy lest someone steal the concept.
Anyway. It's been a long, arduous project, full of frustration, reworks, missed deadlines, and a LOT of dust. I love the way pastel looks, but it is a very, very dirty medium. For this reason I am thankful I have a studio space.
So while I work, I have a lot of time to think. I listen to music, draw, and think. I also talk to myself a lot. Working on a project is a great way to sort through things I might not otherwise have time to mull about.
This afternoon I was thinking about this person in whom I am interested. His name is, well...I've been referring to him as "He Who Drinks My Coffee," and I think for the purpose of this blog he shall remain such. I'm pretty sure this individual is currently attached. Married, perhaps. Not sure. In any case, I found myself handing him my number yesterday afternoon after weeks - months, perhaps - of admiring him from afar. We'll see if he calls. I'm not holding my breath. He did, however, deliver my forgotten coffee shortly after I gave him my number. So if nothing else, he's thoughtful if not available.
As I am wont to do in these situations, though, I started really overthinking my behavior. When he stopped over with my coffee, I found myself prattling on and on and on about various things that interest me. In retrospect, however, I don't think any of them made me seem all that appealing. I talked about my power tools, for the most part. And moulding. How romantic. I appeared dressed in my cruddy art clothes - jeans, t-shirt, apron, hair in a messy bun with a pencil stuck in it, and pastel dust everywhere. I'm sure he was like, "she got THAT dirty in a matter of half an hour?" Serious Pigpen action, only in technicolor.
It was hot out. I started to sweat. So I talked about power tools, home improvement, moulding, self-employment, and coffee while streaking ultramarine blue pastel across my sweaty forehead. So attractive.
I hope he IS married. At least then he has a convenient excuse to not reciprocate interest, rather than trying to figure out a nice way of saying, "sorry, fat manly artists aren't my type."
Oh well. Back to work.