I Think I'm a Mis-Matched Sock

Laundry is the most constant thing in my life. And the dishes. They both just pile up every day and accumulate until I'm drowning in them.
Right now I feel like a mismatched sock. Which, might I add I have more than 30 of. Half of these socks I had no idea I even had. And I kinda feel like them right now; off to the side and just waiting for something to happen to me. Waiting for my match to miraculously appear from the dryer. Or a drawer. Or under the bed.
Anyway. I'm horrible at writing down my actual thoughts. I try to. I have THREE notebooks in my purse. My little black book (I've written on the first 5 pages) my little brown book (4 pages) and my yellow book (6 pages). I think about writing all the time, and my head thinks in these grand, rambling sentences. But I can never manage to find time to put pen to paper, which saddens me, because I can find so much to type. I type all day, every day. Thousands of words, and it takes me half the time that it would to write it down (which is 90% of my appeal I suppose), but it drives me crazy sometimes to not be able to actually write what I want. To create an actual piece of paper that has words on it, not just a digital reference. I suppose I'm rambling, but I feel the same way about my artwork right now. Everything is digital, on the computer, not something that I'm touching and feeling and MAKING. That's why I love printmaking so much, but even that just feels like such a bit of digital imagery to me right now, even though it shouldn't because I'm making huge monotypes full of ink and I'm usually a hot mess and covered in ink when I'm finished. But besides those actual moments when I'm covered in ink.... I feel like a mismatched sock.





And a quote from my grandmother to leave this off: "Carly you can do anything you put your mind to. ANYTHING. I just hope you don't decide to be president because I think I'm getting to old for the campaign trail."