Satisfying Kit's Curiosity

My fellow bloglodyte, Kit Courteney, has asked me to unveil five obsessions that I have. Five. Only five. I will now draw lots:

1) Donuts. I fantasise about them more than is normal, I'm sure. I don't even need to eat them (though I enjoy that, too). I just love them there on the shelf when there are at least 30 different kinds, and they are all fresh, it makes me happy. Even if I'm not eatting any of them.

2) Patterns. I hate it if something is almost a pattern. But not quite. Things either need to be totally random, or exact. Nothing in between. This tells you more than you ever wanted to know about my housekeeping, believe me.

3) Grammar. I love it. Verb systems make me go all soppy and wet (no kids reading this, I hope?) I'm not pedantic, and I won't shoot you for using "incorrect" grammar (at least not when anyone is watching) but I want people to know what they are using and why. I have no problem with y'all. Its use is rule governed! People who don't know an adjective from an adverb and DON'T CARE are criminal, though.

4) Stationary. Don't ask. And don't look in my closet. And don't ask me if you can borrow one of my pens, because the answer is NO. I will buy you one, I will GIVE you one, but you can't borrow one. Because then I have to worry about whether or not you will give it back. And if you don't, it will leave a little hole which doesn't close up, which brings us to number five...

5) People who borrow things and don't give them back. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!! Just.... Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!


As for tea, that doesn't count as an obsession. No one calls you obsessed if you breathe constantly. Why should they call you obsessed if you drink tea? Same thing...

Produce and Reproduce

It's Easter Monday. I am at loose ends. Being pregnant is usually pretty consuming for me. What I mean is, even if I can't think of anything else to do, it is enough to just be pregnant. I sit there, I think "I am not doing nothing. I am being pregnant." I am not the sort who can happily do nothing (this drives my husband insane sometimes, I think). I must produce! Whether baby, garden, writing, art.... I haven't managed another way of measuring my worth. I am worth what I produce. If I am producing nothing, then.... How stupid is that? From the neck up, I know this is stupid. I would never judge anyone else by those terms.

So.

Being pregnant is my lazy way of producing? I shudder to think that, but it has occurred to me:
"Draw? No, haven't had time for that! I'm busy being pregnant!"

Could I draw and be pregnant at the same time? Of course. And paint, and write.... But I haven't written or drawn anything for a year now, and that is why this question keeps popping up.

Did I get pregnant so I could produce without risk? OK, there are risks, but different risks. My artistic self-confidence has plummeted. But this has happened before; long gaps in my drawing, painting, writing, and at the end of each gap, the question- can I still do it? Can I still produce things that meet my own standards? Each time, it is terrifying- which amazes me! Why? Because every single time, after every scary, desolate hiatus the answer is YES. I always do produce again, every time, and yet during every new dry spell I think 'Will this one be different? Will this be the one that creeps in to settle permanently?'

So now I have the question. (Which on top of everything else, makes me feel a fool- in retrospect it seems so obvious.) Did I 'accidentally' get pregnant (never mind my hyperfertility- we'll discuss that another time) as an excuse not to test my ability to produce art? There is only one possible way to answer that question to my own satisfaction. I must start drawing, now. We have decided that we will discuss babies again in September. I must produce a piece I love before that, in order to know my own motives. It's the only fair solution- to have a baby in spite of my art, not as a substitute for it. Don't misunderstand me; I would have loved that little boy- I do love him, with all my heart. I miss him every day. Especially at Easter, I suppose, when the entire northern hemisphere is pregnant.

Is unpregnant a word? It is now. I feel so unpregnant.

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Here are some eggs, dyed the Swiss way, in all their glory: