Water.

I got a glimpse of my face tonight at a bar, looking in the mirror directly in front of me. There, perfectly framed between two whiskey bottles on a shelf sat my head. That round head. A pea head. Grotesque.  Pretty people scurrying all about, in back of me. I’m the Quasimodo of my city. 

Maybe I’m over. Maybe I’m beat.

I guess I just think I’m done because I got another rejection letter today. I still get down about these. I just want something really good on the horizon. A nice bright light to look forward to. 

Last year I was doing good. Making real progress. But this year, I haven’t done anything! Nobody excepts my comics anymore. I haven’t appeared in anything recently.If anything, it’s only become harder to keep doing my comics lately. I just need to feel myself moving forward and making progress again, and I’ll feel ok. 

Maybe it’s my loser complex rearing it’s head again. You’ll all be sorry about this rejection in the future! I’ll burn them all someday. I can’t give up. 

I refuse to be a comic artist who’s work becomes lost in time. I just couldn’t live with that. But, man! I thought it’d get easier….

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