And, no, I don't mean that I like to hang pictures of celebrities on walls and sip tea while talking to them in a room lit by red scented candles arranged vaguely like a magic circle. I have just been seeing a few changes in myself that I find... more than a bit disconcerting, and, as they're not really the kinds of things you'd divulge to someone in real life, I decided I shall go into them in detail here, on my blog! In front of the whole internetz!
Or, at least, the very-very-very-very-close-to-but-not-quite 0% of the internetz that actually read this blog.
So, I've been having the uncomfortable feeling that I've become a bit dumber. Not even the "Oh, god, I was such an idiot last year. I sure hope I've made progress this year" kind of feeling. I truly and sincerely believe I've become dumber. I'm no longer as eloquent as I am fairly convinced I used to be when I speak (not that I was particularly eloquent at any point in my life), and I can't even write fiction as easily as I used to, and it's taking me longer to understand mathematical concepts than I used to, the list goes on.
It's a very uncomfortable sort of feeling, that you've become dumber. I don't know if it is because I'm becoming stupid or if it's a testament to my growing maturity, but when I think back on how I was last year, I think less that I was such and idiot and more that, Oh, given the circumstances and my emotional state at those points, I suppose there wasn't much helping it. Is this because I'm becoming a bit more accepting of the fact that sometimes even I think and say stupid things, or am I just trying to rationalize because my brain knows I won't be able to do any better in the future?
And maybe I'm overthinking this, but this is the kind of thing I worry about late at night when I should be sleeping. That and zombies. Yup.
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I've also come across a few other disturbing moments in the past few weeks. For the last issue of my school's magazine, a large part of my work was drawing these cute little personifications of the horoscope symbol... things. Because the editors thought it would be a good idea or something. Anyway, I spent two or three hours on each drawing, giving us a total of about 30 hours of drawing. Since then, it's been pretty hard for me to draw. Like, anything. And it didn't really kick in right away, but the amount of stuff I've been drawing has been decreasing and decreasing, and now it's dwindled to a whopping two or three pieces a week. And don't think I mean finished pencil drawings, either. I mean barely shaded, 30-minute sketches that take up about a third of a page in my sketchbook.
But art slumps are manageable. They happen. Sure.
But.
For this issue of the magazine, I've been assigned 2 articles, plus the comics (I usually do two 4-panel comics)! I mean, I've talked to one of the editors and maybe I'll be able to drop one of the articles. Maybe. But, I still had to do two rough drafts for those two articles, and I was up pretty late writing them.
And as I was writing them, a thought came to me:
God, I hate writing.
It was terrifying.
So, yeah, it's as if the magazine's ruining my love for anything and everything. Next thing you know, I'm gonna hate kittens because of it.
Hopefully, though, that won't happen, and maybe I'll be able to write and draw and stuff eventually. But art blocks are always a terrible thing to go through.
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