So, here’s what I did on Tuesday morning.
I packed up my portfolio case with all the stuff I’ve been working on—the six-pager, the first nine or so strips of the webcomic, plus random sketches—and all my supplies, and brought it with me to work. I do this often so I can squeeze a little drawing in at lunchtime. On this particular day I was also heading to my friend Sharon’s after work for a drawing/zine-ing night. On this particular day, I thought as I rode the bus, “gosh, wouldn’t it be terrible if I left my portfolio on the bus some day? What would I even DO? I’d lose everything, who knows if I would ever get it back..”
And twenty minutes later, I left my portfolio on the bus. Containing everything I’ve drawn since March. All the completed work on the six-pager, plus the entire script. All the un-inked webcomics. My fancy schmancy brush pen. My pencils and special comics paper. Doodles and ideas for projects I wanted to start. I didn’t discover this until I was getting ready to leave work and head to Sharon’s house. By that time, the customer service office for the bus company was closed, and there was fuck all I could do about my lost work until 8am.
At first, I kind of freaked. I mean, I’ve lost work before. Or worked forever on big projects that just never came to fruition. But this stuff was my *new direction.* A breakup comic that detailed my most tender feelings of loss for my ex, as opposed to the ones I’ve been posting about jaded farm animals. A webcomic that explores my childhood traumas with a joyful eye. The New Path I’ve been forging for myself since ending a relationship that included both comics collaboration and major love’n’hearts. Me striking bravely out on my own as a single lady.
And then I started to think, ya know, I don’t really have much choice except to be kind of zen about this. I mean, I was getting my portfolio back or I wasn’t, that was pretty much it, and I wasn’t going to know which it was until 8am when the lost and found opened up. And maybe, this was a sign. I like to think of objectionable things as signs, rather than just stupid fucked up shit that I cannot change—it’s much better. Maybe I’m supposed to see this as a reason to, as Moneet said when I ran into her on the train on the way home, “let go of some things.” Which is funny because I actually had been thinking lately that my drawing since I have Struck Out On My Own has been too morose, and even I am losing interest in it.
So I bought a new sketchbook and some new pencils, and I started charting some new territory. Literally…….
Oh, and the next morning, I asked the bus driver if anyone had turned in a black zippered portfolio case. He said yes and then produced my portfolio from a magic compartment above his head. I brought him homemade cookies the next day.