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I think I'm an art junkie.

Seriously. First you do it for fun, and then you do it for a few friends, and then you do it for money, and then you find yourself doing it because you're bored and don't know what else to do. I am as psychologically hooked on art as any glassy-eyed stoner is on weed. It's not even that I WANT to draw, or that I have anything to say, it's just that with an afternoon to kill, I start drawing, because, y'know. Beats staring into space and breathing shallowly and all.

Since it is a weekend, I should be relaxing and NOT arting. I should be allowing my brain to decompress. I know this. I find myself drawing anyway.

Possibly I need an art intervention of some variety, except that if there's anything I should NOT be allowed to go cold turkey on, it's art. It would be ugly. Restraints would be required.

Plus, being my career and everything, there would be other ramifications. Not all addictions are bad, and since one of the great realizations of my adulthood was that I do NOT have to give up all of my bad habits and vices before death, I see no point in even making a start on this one. I am comfortable with my art habit.

I blame the ideas. There's too many of 'em. S'like my brain is a stagnant marsh of standing water, hatching out idea larvae in vast sweeping swarms. I can't keep track of them. They've been in full swing lately. Maybe it's something in the air. I try to snag 'em, but I'm one lonely frog in the vast swamp, and the greater part of the idea swarm buzzes on overhead, copulating and biting each other and raining idea body parts down into the water.

I don't mind having ideas--I'm delighted to have them--but there are limits.

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Oh sure, it starts simple, but then you'll be needing a few hits of Rockwell. Then you'll start snorting a few lines of Picasso and before you know it BAM! You're mainlining Van Gogh.

At least you aren't doing the hard stuff like cave paintings and classical statuary.

*shakes head sadly*

Kids these days.

I would so kill to have your problem. ;)

They tried making a patch for that, but people just kept drawing on 'em.

Then it works!

...err, no, that's not right.

Welcome to the compulsive club...


You realize, of course, that this makes you enviably productive.

And then you want to go to your muse and explain, "Listen. I like having a wide variety of ideas. I like having a lot of ideas. It makes my friends and fellow writers (artists in your case) envy me. I'm down with the fact you're productive. But you are, really, quite fine with coming up with things under normal conditions, so could you perhaps NOT take amphetamines?"

Yes! I mean, the normal rush of ideas is fine. Having to get up in the night occasionally to scribble them is fine.

Having them flood my brain at every hour of the day is a little over the top.

That one Sandman story about the writer cursed to ideas unending for raping a Muse kinda hit home for me. Not that I'd ever do that to a Muse...

All this compulsive artistry, and you're still not drawing enuf rats!

I was going to apologize, and then it occurred to me--what, exactly would constitute enough rats? I mean, we're talking at least 20%, aren't we?

It suddenly occured to me it's something of a shame I've never managed to get a decent picture of our black hairless dumbo-eared rat. He's got the kind of face I suspect you would love. (And inexplicably curly whiskers.)

It's a side-effect of the 'hairless' gene. The whiskers aren't normal whisker-hair, but in fact long undercoat fur; so the pores they pass through on the way out are shaped to give them an undercoat curl.

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