The Mold

 The comic convention is less than a month away which means Colt is all work, no play.

His work is play, per-se (hehe), but it's also time consuming and thought consuming.  He swings with his mood, you know, and right now he is at the top of the mountain, which means he is in his own world of ideas and progresses like a freight train.

I am how I usually am in times of great productivity for Colt- swallowed by my own crippling ideas of success and failure.  I stand at the start of the river and watch him row away, holding the wood for my boat in pieces in my hands, unable to build anything while following his progress.  That's why I've been silent here- I am silent everywhere.  During these times, I am happy because Colt is doing well, but I'm also stuck because I can't focus my eyes on my own goals.

He's described me in two different ways at two different points in our relationship:

The first was when we first met.  He said I throw bricks instead of building a wall and hope they land on top of each other.  This didn't line up with how I thought about myself then - as a speed builder, building entire houses in the time it took someone else to find the mortar, but I would choose halfway through to change plots of land, decisively.  I see how this could look like a lack of focus, but it really wasn't.

Yesterday he described me as a woodpecker who only pecks wood maybe twice in my whole life - in reference to visual art (if all the painters were woodpeckers).  Maybe someone looks at me from afar while I'm building a nest or something, and says "Are you sure you aren't a woodpecker?" and i say, "No.  Just a bird" but then the two times i peck wood, I build the Mona Lisa or something.

Depending on the time of day, these words mean very different things to me, and that's my trouble with words as of late.  If I write them in the morning, they don't ring true by evening, and if I write them in the evening they just sound awful.  I want a rhythm again, but it's only wishful thinking if I'm not putting in the work.

One way or the other, the windows are open and the day is beautiful and the house is full of busy hands and crawling knees and thoughts on art


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