Except I immediately did it wrong, because I didn't follow the prompts and just started drawing things in my garden. I figured if I drew 31 little things on one page, at the end of the month I would have something to hang on the kitchen wall. Now I'm committed. Sorry, Inktober, I will do you right next year.
And evidently it's a really good thing I'm doing this, because I've been drawing on a tablet for so long that I have been trying to undo my inkwork by tapping on the page. And I turned the paper by spanning it around with two fingers. It also won't zoom in or out when I pinch it, which is some kind of bullshit. I am somewhat-less-slowly going blind in my mid-thirties and have immediately lost every pair of reading glasses I've pilfered from the unclaimed lost-and-found bin.
So I've been using these old physical-world brain connections, and the realization that they have been withering has alarmed me enough to wildly issue a ban on all electronics in the evening. I am not a popular parental figure at home right now.
Day 1: could only find grey paper and decided I could make it work. Drew Bucky, fighting with paper nearly constantly as it refused to be electronic.
Day 2: added a lilikoi vine. Tried to compensate for grey paper by adding white paint highlights. Ruined everything.
Day 3: found white watercolor paper in bottom of closet. Copied entire design and inked it in more loosely. Added basil. Brain began to accept what was happening.
Day 4: added a gardenia while drinking coffee at 5:30am. Felt pretty good about it.
Day 5: chased the chickens into the coop before work and sat for 10 minutes hastily adding a sprig (branch? stalk? clipping?) of cherry tomatoes.
Day 6: woke up to pee in the bed (not mine. well, my bed, because I sleep with Zenny because HAHA I HAVE INTIMACY ISSUES, but not my pee). Dealt with bedding and confused 3 year-old who did not like being washed with butt wipes at 5:15am. Realized coffee container was empty. So was the milk. Made pancakes, then burned them because the cat tried to barf on my computer and when I chased her down from the table she barfed on my work shoes. Gave up on the day. Became miserable automaton, going through the motions and drinking staff-room coffee. Inktober is on hold because there isn't any belladonna or piles of skulls or text bubbles filled with expletives growing in my garden, and I don't want to fuck the whole thing up with my bad mood. There are rats and toads in the underbrush, though... hmm.
(10 hours later)
Day 7: more chickens. These are two of the pullets, Weasley and Sirius.
October 13th: creeper vine. I have never looked up what kind of vine this is, but it grows everywhere. After we buried the cats, we didn't want to turn that corner of the garden and see the sad little pile of barren dirt, and when I finally steeled myself to look around the edge of the garden wall I had one of those strange and wondrous into-the-wardrobe moments - the overturned dirt had been completely taken over by vines with tiny yellow flowers. They covered the graves, flowed up the garden wall, and draped themselves over the neighbor's scrawny tree, creating a glowing arbor filled with white butterflies and drifting dust motes. It's still growing there in that discarded little corner behind the garage, an impossible little entryway into some place I'm too old to venture.
Oct 14: A squishy little toad. We have a lot of toads here. Out by the lychee tree, if you rake up leaves there are ripples and flutters as tiny baby toads hustle to safety. Inside every big clay flowerpot is a fat sleepy toad nestled into the dirt. If you like toads, which I do, it's charming to find them like garden gnomes under rocks and behind bushes. But it's sad, too, because after every rain storm the roads are littered with dead toads, smashed by cars as they hop out onto the wet pavement. A few days ago, I walked Leif to school and we crossed a newly-mown field littered with dead and dying toads. I picked up one that was completely broken but still alive and moved it beneath a bush so it wouldn't have to die in the hot sun. I'm still sad for it. So here it is. I'm so sorry I didn't know how to fix a broken toad, little guy.
Oct 19: a couple of slugs. These things murdered my eggplant, er, plant. I came out one morning and one of them saw me and went, "oh shit" and tried to run away. It very slowly executed a graceful backflip and lowered itself down to the ground on a string of slime. In slug time, it was probably a stunning feat of athleticism and the slug ran off to tell his friends they should have seen him. In human time, I was standing and watching a slug for ten minutes, because I am super terrible at murdering things/proper gardening. The chickens appreciate this, and I haven't seen any slugs since the pullets went free-range.
October 20: I hate drawing ferns. Ferns hate me drawing them. My kids hate me drawing ferns, too, and they began meowing for milk and brownies and a bath and help using the bathroom as soon as I sat down, so I drew it quickly with someone hanging on my arm. It shows. Bah.
October 21: red-vented bulbul. We've got a lot of these guys hanging out in our tree, trash-talking the chickens.
October 22: gladiolas. I planted some of these last year and killed them, so I was surprised when they came back up this year and flowered into glorious pink blossoms. I have since killed them again.
October 23rd: Mundungus the pigeon, sunning his armpits. I over-inked this one because someone was hanging on my arm again.
Ugly nasturtiums:
Lettuce that looks like a discarded wig:
October 27: I got derailed and drew a cow joke instead.
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If anyone else is doing this, please link in the comments.
I will add to this post as the month progresses.
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