Not Painting Makes Me Squirrely

Not painting makes me squirrely. Like I probably have beady eyes and everything. I’m going through withdrawals over here. I’m twitchy and grumpy and my pants no longer fit. I miss yellow ochre and cadmium red. I miss pitt pens. I miss paper.

Pregnancy and not painting have both turned me into a degenerate. I don’t want to do anything including bending over to pick things up. I’m that lazy. Instead of obsessing about ink flow on paper I’m obsessed with things that don’t matter like celebrity gossip and Donald Trump. Basically I’m obsessed with anything I can do sitting or lying down that only requires my thumb to scroll and click. I’ve read way too many things I won’t remember or care about in 20 minutes. I’ve spent way too much time saving dessert recipes I will never make. I’ve gone to bed at 7:30 pm only to wake up at 3:00 am starving. I’ve bought makeup online and I don’t even wear makeup very often (I couldn’t resist the free gift of even more makeup I won’t wear). I let my daughter jump off the couch into my clean laundry pile. It’s sort of like jumping into leaves in the fall, but we don’t have leaves and I am too lazy to fold all of that underwear. It seemed sort of win-win at the time. My daughter even tries to put my shoes on for me because she thinks I do it too slowly all by myself. String cheese is keeping me sane, you guys.

I’m losing my mind. I’ve become someone else trapped inside my own body. My once industrious self has been replaced by a sloth. Wait, that might be insulting to the sloth. Although a nice slow stretch and a nap sounds good right now. I can totally relate to falling asleep in the middle of eating lunch.

That’s not even the worst part.

I don’t mean to be outrageous or anything, but pregnancy has put a real damper on my creative process. I used to spend every spare moment painting or drawing or thinking about painting and drawing while collaging, but lately I just watch marathons of Grey’s Anatomy and cry (that show is emotional with all of the this one is sleeping with that one and then the dying and breaking up and stuff) while feeding my face copious amounts of string cheese.

Anyway, the nausea is starting to be less urgent and the 30 paintings in 30 days challenge starts in September so I thought I’d better start training for it. I got out the paints. I got out the markers. I got out my stick-to-it-ness. I took a break from Grey’s Anatomy and I painted. I really did.

Not Painting Makes Me Squirrely
12×12 on birch wood “Jack Rabbit Baby.”

It felt pretty good too. My brain decluttered and descattered and my eyes got a little less beady, but I also got kind of tired. It turns out growing another person inside your person is a lot of work and maybe, right now anyway, that’s about as much creativity as my body can muster.

I’m off to take a nap and maybe I’ll find it in me to paint again tomorrow: Fingers crossed, Grey’s Anatomy on pause, string cheese in the cheese drawer…sloth-like nature conquered? Nah…where is my blanket?


2 thoughts on “Not Painting Makes Me Squirrely”

  1. hi lillian,
    your posts always make me smile 🙂
    I love your oh-so-honest descriptions of your imperfect yet happy self
    reading your writing is refreshing!
    and imperfection in a person is comforting to me
    enjoy your gloriously slothful days for now,
    because you already know this – they will not last once the new little arrives. happy napping! valerie

  2. Hopefully once you get past the first trimester, things will get better. Until you get to the last couple of months. Hang in there, and the painting is way cute.

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