March 19 - 23, 2011 (Patreon)

March 19, 2011

Today's appointment at the eye doctor was to determine whether I've got enough eyeball left over to do a second Lasik surgery on it to get my vision to 20/20, for reals this time. 

Even though I can't read signs currently, this is still the best vision I've ever experienced in my life. Before the surgery, every morning I'd wake up blind, pawing for my glasses because even squinting wouldn't let me see them. I spent 26 years with a constant background vulnerability bouncing in the back of my head, worried about any mishap happening to my glasses or contacts while out and about. Forget swimming! PANIC ATTACK CITY. 

Now my only worry is reading street signs. Not bad. But still, there's room to fix 'em entirely, so I'll do it.

March 20, 2011

My cunt broke again earlier this week, which has meant more riding the bus instead of biking, which has meant the immediate return of imbalanced brain chemicals, which has meant CRAZY ERIKA FOR A WEEK.

This has been the. worst. vagina month I've ever had. Ever.

March 21, 2011

-When I first started putting my comics online as a teenager, it was just a hobby.

-When I collected them into minicomics, it was just a token to give to the cartoonists who inspired me.

-When I got my own readers, I was flattered but didn't think of myself as anything more than an amateur.

-When my work was published in anthologies, I took it as a compliment but still saw myself as a hobbyist.

-When I created my first self-published book, I didn't see it as anything more than a self-indulgence and certainly not a "real" book since it was just print-on-demand and anyone can do that.

-When I self-published my first off-set, squarebound book and sold out of almost 1,000 copies in 6 months, I felt like an imposter who had tricked people into thinking she was a Real Author because I'd wrapped my amateur scribbles into a slick-looking case. Obviously not The Real Deal, since a publisher was not producing my work.

-When I started being solicited by F'reals publishers, I still didn't think I was a worthwhile author because they always all pass on my pitches even though they all tell me to keep them updated on my future projects.

-When authors agree to work with me, there's this dominant part of my brain that believes, believes, it is out of pity and I am wasting their time.

-When I spend five days a week, 10am-6pm, working on my first full-length graphic novel with a popular writer, I feel like a failure because I'm not earning enough money to contribute to my household.

-When I produce two full penciled and inked pages a week, even though that is the most I've ever created consistently, I feel like a slacker because so many other cartoonists can produce that in one or two days. 

-When Parker and I get Bucko published, I'm sure I will find a way to discredit that accomplishment as well, most likely through the fact that the advance will probably be peanuts and therefore still not enough to contribute in any meaningful way to our household. 

What the fuck? Why can't I ever reach my goals and be proud of achieving them? Why do I undermine every single one of my level-ups? 

Goddamn it, I've done a lot in the last decade. Every year I've grown my career. When will I let myself feel like a success?

March 22, 2011

What has two thumbs and a fissured vulva? 

This gu-UAGHGH WHY GOD.

(Worst. Vag. Month. Ever.)

March 23, 2011

He buzzes his hair by himself, except for the neckline, which is my job.

[NOTE FROM 2018: This is still true]