I have been putting it off, but the time has finally come. I am pinching my nose and plunging head first into a towering wave of cards. That’s right, it’s time to do some editing.
If you have been following me on Instagram, there’s a chance you had to endure months of the awkward, grainy illustrations that marked the beginning of my tarot card project. The graininess can be credited to my dedication to drawing each card in ink. Sure, they looked great in person, but their charmingly rough edges translated into sloppiness on screen and in print. And so, I have started the laborious process of tracing these old cards digitally to bring them up to spec with the rest of the deck.
At first, when the down days come, they are almost comforting in their inevitability. A thick, familiar blanket to sink into. I bury beneath them and block out the bombardment of sounds and feelings of an ordinary life, let my skin go numb.
A few days in and the mustiness of that blanket is no longer pleasant. I’m ready to break free, but the decision is taken from me. I cannot find the edges of that damp, clinging depression. I tear at my face, fighting for all those times I’ve breathed fresh love, joy and curiosity, and remain piteously tangled. Cocooned in an invisible solitude.
