I'm taking tomorrow and Tuesday off work, for a grand 5-day weekend, in a mad bid to finish pencils on the next issue of Shuteye. I've had this issue written for about a year. I've had it blocked and laid out for months. But for some reason, sitting down to draw comics lately is like pulling teeth.

Perhaps I've been too easily distracted by Tom Nevers Head or by my flamenco classes, or by projects like the Katamari Cupcakes I made last weekend, I thought. But then I was poking around John Campbell's blog the other day, and came across a post about a book that he's trying to finish. "really been draggin my feet on this one," he types, "still not entirely sure why that is, just kind of hate everything, hate every little thing down to hating each atom and each part of each atom."

And oh, does that sound familiar. I don't think my comics-block issues right now are about hating everything, but I think I kind of hate everything about comics. Don't worry, I'm working through it, and I'll finish this book and the next and the next, but right now the medium just feels so thankless, unrewarding and tedious. I labor for months and months for a finished product that people will read in 30 seconds and then discard. And I don't know what exactly I want. I mean, clearly not riches or fame, or I wouldn't have chosen comics as a medium. Still, at least people clap when I play my accordion onstage, you know?

But Sarah, you say, all of life is transient and fleeting, comics are only more obviously so. And you're right. And I'll work through it, and I'll get over it, probably by the time I get around to inking this next Shuteye issue. In the meantime though? Comics, I don't care for you very much right now.

À propos of nothing at all, I leave you with a picture from our office building's roof patio, to which we only recently gained access.