An old idea I am re-hashing.

A web site where people have an idea and cash, and they want an artist to draw it.

Nothing like I want to draw a cat for you.

Well, like that, but with multiple artiusts with portfolios.

More like Fiver, but just for one category.

Recreationally.

Art

Corporate is different.

A web site, where I can pay $5 – $5000 for a drawing or series.

I havbe a library of demo reels showing me their unique style.

““`

Side. I was hatrsh this week to Elisa’s brother.  Probably mean.

““

Letter to her.

In the weekend wrap up, of muy obcessive mind, I was going over the things I’ve done and said.

I don’t think before I do things, like much of ther world.

It occurred to me, a full few days later, that I may have been very rude to Elias’ brother.

I may have, through sarcasm and high briow humour that was offiencive and possibly mkean.  As a society, we always prefer to not get cauight mocking somebody in your audience or life.

We ,moch strtangers.  Bully them.  That’s ok.  Not at home.

I was mean, regardless of any relation. It was as mean to a sytranger as it was to a spuce.

I don’t know if I can apologize without looking weird for waiting a week.

The sad thing is, I want to believe.

I want to buy what he was selling.  I want to believe that there IS a way for them to work, and make me lots of money fast.

Or without a day job.

I need an extra income and I can be at a computer a lot.

If his plan worked, he’d be the smart one.  That’s sneaky how they get cha.

I am taught to not fool for things, so my trust level is low. Its not so much that anyone is a suspect. I juust learn from my memkories and say No to everythjimng.  I may actually have won a trip or 5.  I may have won raffles.

I assume its not real.

But it clearly is real. The problem is my trust has beed educated by a siunacle mind, Penn & Teller’s Bullshit, blogs and weed.

I wish I could be more trusting and take risks… in life and money.

I can’t turn back the clock if I do it wrong in my life.

So I don’t try.

(dramtic chord)

“`

The jobbers and the non jobbers.  My life in between.

In my life, for reasons inbred into me a long time ago unconcuiously.  Work was the way of life. Mother had many jobs, and father had a good one.

We were middle class, and although I had richer friends, we had the firsts of gadgetry growing up.

My dad was what we now call, and early adopter.

I suspect he may actually have been his bosses trinkle down man, like I have on both sides of me.

He was still ahead of the other kids with news of the newest cool thing.

Maybe.

I have no memory of time with my father, outside a few single snapshot memories I bcan pull up with prompting.

“““

I can remember a lot more inmteracticly than alone.

“““

I met somebody from the non jobvers side of the class, er- tracks.

I met a whole new community of people whjo smoke weed, as a part of theur day.

Stoners

Weedheads

Not all of them were druggies, and I have no idea which part of the horse and carriage came first in the world of dumb because of pot or pot because you’re dumb.

On welfare, disability, winnings or whatever they can do to live a work-free life.

Chill.

I was ashamed the first week I went on Government assistance (employment insurance).  I felt awful, and disreepctful to my father. A man who went to work sick, and kept track of eery second.  We’d listen to the 1pm time signal on the radio every Sunday.

Gosub return

They both have their merits and I’m in between.  Every once and a while I realize thios.  I’m closer to lower class than middle class, by my own standards.  It’s hard not to let go and change.

I dream of it.

I need to work.  I wish I could do more.

WHOLE NOTHER STORY

(t shiurt)  WNS