Note to Self: Empirical evidence gathered today while walking sister’s dog suggests that the trope of humans being supernaturally compelled to strike up conversation with/assault dog owners of the opposite sex is in fact not a Hollywood fabrication but a very common, very real threat to personal safety. Bring running shoes next time. And riot gear, just in case.

Been a while since I’ve written a journal post. I know no one reads this shit and those who do are probably masochistic, so bear with me.

I’ve been stuck for a while now. I’m currently working as a 2D concept artist for this videogame outsourcing agency and things have been full of ups and downs. NDAs, the whole concept of being outsourced and the ridiculous schedules are all downs. On the other hand I’ve met some really nice people. Well, just about 2. But it’s ok, given my possibilities and my wonderful set of interpersonal relationship skills, by a loose calculation I basically won the lottery about 17 consecutive times. So there’s that. And also I can walk home. It’s mostly that one. 

The problem is this year I meant to start training and have a 30 page head-start for my webcomic so I could start putting it up on Halloween. I have 15 pages, and it’s already October. And I haven’t been able to go training because I never know when am I going to get off work at any given time because I don’t have a fixed schedule. Tomorrow (technically today in about 10 hours) we’re supposedly talking with the boss about that. Let’s hope for the best. Otherwise I’m gonna have to start looking for someplace else. 

It really hits me that I still have a hard time being consistent with my personal projects. I love to work on them and when I do I feel like I’m actually accomplishing things, but it’s hard to find time to do them. I’m well aware it’s because I still lack organization, but I need to work on that. I feel like I practically have nothing else going for me in many levels. I mean I’m not doing it to get people’s approval, but I definitely wanna give something. Anything. 

This was a particularly boring entry. I think it’s because I’m not depressed. Not entirely.

Now that I have a job and therefore money I can finally invest in a decent Halloween costume. I’m going to consume highly dangerous amounts of alcohol and say my Halloween costume is Tom Waits.

Funny that I should start reading Mary Shelley’s work not with the essential “Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus” but with a small compilation of gothic stories she wrote, known as “The Mortal Immortal & Other Stories”. I am admittedly just getting into reading frequently, as it had proved to be a taste I’d take sometime into acquiring. 

I can positively say that by the second story -“A Tale of the Passions”- I was heartbroken. It’s a stark contrast to Robert E. Howard’s dry brutality or H.P. Lovecraft’s cruel cosmic indifference, both of which I was reading before I jumped to Shelley’s work. Knowing almost nothing about genres or literary terminology save for what I’ve heard or read on the internet (the most reliable source ever in the history of mankind), I feared I wouldn’t know how to properly appreciate what I was reading, but on the contrary, while I’m not sure I fully grasp each story’s concepts until a second or third reading, I still do experience a great deal of emotions once I get into the stories, and it makes me feel almost as if I was a little kid, again. Both in the best and worst possible way. The way Shelley just throws her characters into the most overwhelming emotions makes me think it’s herself who was giving in to some pretty strong feelings with an intensity I didn’t think words alone could convey (silly old me). When I read about her life that assumption was pretty much confirmed. 

I’m a little glad I’m just getting into reading on my own terms and not by someone else’s suggestion, because I feel the second someone starts telling you things like “you should read more”, “but don’t read this, this is bad” or “instead read this, this is good”, “I hate this author”, etc., no matter how stubborn you are, your taste is forever tainted with that person’s opinion, even if only a little bit. I instead take lone trips to the bookstore and just pick up whatever sparks my interest, or I ask people I know have similar a taste to my own in other forms of entertainment, such as film or table-top rpg’s. 

There will probably be art. Reading makes me want to draw. I suppose that shouldn’t be surprising. 

Until now I realized what that “I’ve just met you and this is crazy”, etc. thing was from. Does this mean I’m old? Does thinking it’s extremely silly make me older?

I would just like to point out that contrary to popular belief, I am not a boring hermit shut-in person. Just last week I went out with people that are not (mostly) from my weekly gaming group and I had a good time, I even talked to them right in their faces. And I didn’t make a fool out of myself. 

(Protip: I did.)

I can finally watch Fight Club again without feeling fucking miserable. :D

You still don’t get it, do you? I’m not letting you in, again. No matter how hard you try. 

I really have to wonder if people actually change, or they just lie to themselves that they do (this also applies to myself).

Instead of showing everyone that you are aware of all the injustice out there and doing jack-shit about it anyway, be aware of all the injustice within your home, within your neighborhood, within your group of friends, co-workers or your very family, and try to do something about that. It’s easy to post a link about something happening ten thousand miles away and feeling good about yourself because there’s no consequences for you getting involved because (surprise) you’re not actually getting involved. Unless you’re flying all the way to Africa or whatever and volunteering to a non-profit organization giving up the life you might have had back in whatever country you’re from, you’re just showing off how much a compassionate, well-meaning special-snowflake human being you are to the rest of your social networking buddies to get pats in the back. Don’t pretend you don’t have problems within your fucking perimeter. Give away the clothes you don’t need, give food to your local shelter, adopt a dog, I don’t know, fucking do something here! If we all worried about the things we can fix instead of the things we pretend we can fix, the world would be a much better place. Okay, that’s it.

Sometimes I think somehow I unconsciously make all my ‘going out with friends’ plans fall apart so I can stay indoors and draw. Such as today. So drawing it is.

Silly Arthur, nobody’s going to want to have sex with you if you’re depressed all the time. Get your shit together.