I’ve been very busy with my art of late and thought I’d better post some of it! But first – don’t forget to check out my latest comics! If you like zombies click here and if you like kitties click here. Oops, I may have mixed up those links.
The below picture is an updated version of this and I am pretty happy with the result. It’s really interesting to go back over old work from when I first started using Illustrator. A lot of the time I’m thinking “Argh, what a mess!”
I can’t go on a drawing frenzy without including some zombies 🙂
I’m a hypochondriac. This basically means that when I get sick, or something weird happens with my body, I become completely unbearable to live with. It’s not that I am unaware, I totally get that I am ridiculous, but knowing this is not enough to prevent me from spiralling completely out of control into a crumpled mess of histrionics and self-pity.
It’s all about perception. For example:
Hey, I’d love to be one of those people who is totally stoic, never complains and just grins and bears it, but I’m not built that way! Can I help it if I’m just super aware of my fragility, my physicality, my mortality? I’m a control freak, so when my body starts behaving in ways I can’t control I pretty much curl up into the foetal position and await death. I’m hoping by exposing my craziness in a light-hearted manner that my long-suffering husband will perhaps understand me a little better and maybe someday forgive me for the weeks of sheer hell that I’ve just put him through.
It all started about a month ago with a sore throat and earache. After some Googling, I discovered it was most likely throat cancer. This knowledge prevented me from going to the doctor when I should have; I just wasn’t ready to hear my death sentence yet – it was nearly Christmas, for crying out loud. Just let me get through Christmas!
About five days before Christmas my husband made me go to the doctor (not my regular doctor, either, so I really didn’t want to go). I was told I had laryngitis (but I didn’t believe the diagnosis was correct) and was given antibiotics. I started feeling nauseated and dizzy towards the end of the course and blamed it on the antibiotics. A week after finishing them I had vertigo so bad that I could barely move my eyes. My extensive Internet research told me that the ongoing nausea and dizziness must have another cause (as antibiotics don’t stay in your system for that long). The fact that the antibiotics hadn’t made me feel better only proved to me that the original diagnosis was wrong.
My regular doctor was away over the Christmas/New Year period and when she finally did come back to work she was immediately booked out for a whole week. Why didn’t I want to see another doctor? Because I’m loyal, dammit. I love my doctor. I trust only her and will never leave her (barring some kind of restraining order). Anyhoo, I made an appointment for a week’s time and spent the next seven days trying to find a cause for my symptoms like some kind of obsessive House wannabe.
It wasn’t long before my husband couldn’t take it anymore and marched me off to the walk-in centre. I didn’t want go, I wanted to wait and see my regular doctor (who is some sort of squishy, lovely, angel doctor with the logic of Spock, the patience of Buddha and the sweetness of Shirley Temple). I waited for two hours and paid forty dollars for a consultation that literally lasted less than two minutes. The doctor didn’t even sit down; he looked at my throat for less than a millisecond, said, “Yes, your throat is very swollen”, gave me a script for Stemzine (medication for the dizziness) then told me, and I quote, “If the dizziness does not go away in six weeks, get a brain scan because it might be a brain tumour.”
My husband and I had quite different reactions on hearing this. It looked something like this.
It was just what my husband needed at this point. A doctor telling his totally manic, hypochondriac wife that she might have a brain tumour.
This is my perception of how the consultation went down.
I was absolutely horrified. What kind of doctor tells you that your throat is swollen and then does absolutely nothing about it? What kind of doctor tells you that you might have a brain tumour based on almost zero information? Walk-in centres blow. Big time.
The appointment with my squishy, lovely, angel doctor could not arrive soon enough. She put me on a course of stronger antibiotics and reassured me that I don’t have a brain tumour as the dizziness is most likely due to my hayfever and throat infection. I felt comforted and happy when I left her office. Everything was going to be juuust fine.
Or, so I thought. I woke up this morning with my right ear completely blocked and my left ear throbbing painfully. But it’s okay, I’ve narrowed it down to vestibular neuritis, Menier’s disease or referred otalgia due to a decaying tooth that desperately needs looking at.
I really should go see my dentist.
I’m pretty sure we’ve all met someone like him. He’s the guy who approaches you with what, at first, appears to be a simple, friendly greeting. You respond with an equally friendly greeting because, well, it’s polite (and you’re not a total bastard). However, after about four minutes of mind-numbing small talk, interspersed with disturbing, uninvited insights into his personal life, you realise you’ve been tricked. But by then it’s too late – you’re in a one-sided conversation with socially-inappropriate security guard guy.
I recently visited country Victoria to spend Christmas with my parents and my sister and her family. I was warned by my sister that a large number of inhabitants of a nearby town (which shall remain nameless) seemed to be “not quite right”. Intrigued by this information, my husband and I jumped in the car, and took our son and nephew along for the drive.
When we arrived we bought the kids some bakery delights and sat at a table on the sidewalk of the main street.
This also happened to be the exact moment that socially-inappropriate security guard guy went on his smoke break. (I know back when I was a smoker and went outside for a cigarette, the first thing I always did was find some young children and light up right next to them.)
Now, I tell you with no exaggeration that this man proceeded to talk non-stop for fifteen minutes. After what we thought was just going to be a pleasant (and brief) greeting we suddenly found ourselves held captive by a man who apparently had millions of things to say and not enough people to say them to.
He didn’t care that we had stopped listening. He didn’t notice our uncomfortable body language. He didn’t see my husband and I exchange glances of disbelief. He was even oblivious to the fact that my son had somehow managed to swallow his loose tooth.
Socially-inappropriate security guard guy just kept on yammering while my husband and I attended to my son’s emotional distress. I eventually had to interrupt him, “Excuse me, my son just swallowed his tooth”. He barely even skipped a beat. That’s right, he just kept on telling us things while I tried not to vomit at the thought of swallowing a mouthful of chocolate eclair mixed with blood and tooth.
Eventually we said goodbye to the insane, annoying security guard and drove back to my sister’s house to relay our adventures of the town nearby. The moral of this story? Don’t drive to the next town over in the hopes of finding people who seem “not quite right”, because you might actually find them.
Oh, and it is my firm belief that this is what happened after we left.
I thought I’d do a Christmassy picture of a snowman. As usual, it took on a life of its own and became a melting snowman.
Mr. Snowman’s basking in the sun and enjoying every last beautiful moment. He doesn’t resent the sun, the sun’s just doing his job and Mr. Snowman always knew he was temporary.
I still have the emotional age of about nine, so it stands to reason that I really love Christmas. Last Christmas I woke up at 5:30 am and the house was silent. So I did what any good mother would do and woke up my kids…HELLOOOO? PRESENTS!!!
I don’t celebrate Christmas in a religious sense. What I do celebrate is being with family and close friends, eating too much deliciously bad (for you) food, and the giving and receiving of presents. Man, I love presents. For me, Christmas Day is not complete unless somebody buys me a comic book. When I was growing up my parents would always buy me The Beano annuals or other comics and I’d spend the whole day lounging about, reading them and eating lollies.
I’ve taken to making my own bonbons the last two Christmases. This year I searched all over, but couldn’t find anywhere that sold the cardboard rolls that are the foundation for the bonbons. So I had to improvise. My very green sister would be so proud of me, as I used the leftover cardboard rolls from the Christmas paper. I crammed them with all sorts of lovely goodies and can’t wait for the kids to open them at Christmas lunch. They are going to crap themselves with excitement!
My darling son and niece put their heads together and built this Santa decoration out of Lego (Lego is an obsession in our household).
Whatever you’re celebrating (or even if you’re not) I wish you all a happy and safe holiday season.