Well, aside from curtain hanging and baby birthing I did some illustrations for an awesome magazine Brain, Child. Each time they send me an essay to illustrate, I (admittedly) putz around, leave it on my drafting table to read and then get to it a day later. I then force myself to sit down and read it while at the same time praising myself for being such a grown-up and doing my work. And then it happens.
I'm a page into the essay and I'm bawling. I'm in this writer's world and emotionally link to every word. I'm reflecting on my life, my family, the choices I've made and now because of this essay I feel as though I've been emotionally tenderized with a magazine article mallet. " I NEED to email this writer and tell her how much I love this essay!" I scream in my mind. Fantasies of meeting the writers spin through my head: oh - there we are having coffee, oh - that's us shopping at Costco, there I am helping her organize a garage sale. It just goes on...
Once I stop being imaginary BFFs with the writers, I actually do get to work-
"The Sound of Us" by Kristen Kovacic
"This Sucks" by Kelly Feinberg
So if you're in the mood for a good cry, pick up a copy of Brain, Child.