A Year in Doodles

How do we mark the passage of time when we're in limbo?

I've been resisting writing an acknowledgement of the new year. Another year of illness. Another year of no cure. Another year of fighting with bureaucrats (which initially auto-corrected to buttercream which I'd much rather fight with).

It's also been a year of acceptance. A year of gratitude. A year of slowing down on purpose, with purpose. Of stopping to notice and appreciate. A year of deep breaths in and slow, intentional breaths out. Trust me. It helps.

Marking the passage of time could be a painful reminder of what's been lost, missed out on, and wasted on account of bureaucratic idiocy. I've got plenty of those stories.

It could also be a chance to count my blessings; describe the ways friends old and new have come through, bestow my beloved with the hero's recognition he deserves, and delight you with all the little discoveries that can only be made when forced to slow down - the silver linings if you will. How cute.

Neither option suits me at the moment. So I'm left with the question of how I want to mark the passage of time. Or whether this is a ritual that suits me at all. As I paged through my paper journal reflecting on jotted notes and scribbles from months gone by, it dawned on me that that’s how I wanted to mark my 2024. In doodles.

Bear in mind, I’m no Monet. I have not a lick of Charles Schultz in me. And though I consider Banksy an inspiration and a hero, I’m aware that my graffiti enshrouds only my own property and was created with an audience of absolutely no one in mind. But, lacking platitudes, pithiness, and pleasantries, it’s the best I can do for a year that did the best it could do.

Here’s to doing what you can with what you got.

Operation Make Amy Happy! It’s a journey, not a destination. But how many others out there have “textbook” somewhere in their notes about how to get happy? Asking for a friend.

Plans for the aforementioned Flower Wall (see: Operation Make Amy Happy).

A brief diversion from the doodles to show the slow but steady progression on the Flower Wall.

A brief diversion from the doodles to show the slow but steady progression on the Flower Wall.

A brief diversion from the doodles to show the slow but steady progression on the Flower Wall.

A brief diversion from the doodles to show the slow but steady progression on the Flower Wall.

A brief diversion from the doodles to show the slow but steady progression on the Flower Wall.

A brief diversion from the doodles to show the slow but steady progression on the Flower Wall.

Because when your therapist compliments you on your EXQUISITE AWARENESS you grab the nearest pen, turn to whatever page opens and mark that occasion. You go, self! (Arrow to “Tax credits” unintentional. Author has no awareness, exquisite or otherwise, of said credits.)

Speaking of exquisite awareness… A sociologist, an aspiring misanthrope, and a shitty knitter fall into a fog and realize they’re all the same person. RIM SHOT! Also, do you ever wish you could just zip yourself out of your body and walk right out of it? CAN I GET AN AMEN?! And finally, who ARE Substack subscribers and who uses the app? NO, REALLY. ASKING FOR MYSELF.

Notes doodled while chatting with a journalist about JD Vance. Apparently I am a flower being sucked into a pit in the ground. JD is a broken flower who needs some water, sunshine, and a hug. Not sure about Selfish the Kid over there in the corner.

More doodles to self while talking with journalists.

Reminder to self while on hold in desperate search of medical care. It’s the people in power who are to blame. And they aren’t the ones answering the phones today.

Luigi didn’t ride off into the sunset but he sure has sparked something in us.

Deep Thoughts, by Amy Blackstone: the illustrious journal

It’s been a year. 12 months. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ve got pens aplenty, yarn to knit, people in my corner, and still more than enough to shake my fist at. I’ll be okay. I wish the same for you as well.