Click on it to make it bigger. The original is available over in the store.
We don’t know if it’s SADs or what — maybe so, if that stands for Sucking At Drawing — or maybe D.R.E.A.M. (Depression Rules Everything Around Me). But it’s been a pretty grim couple of weeks over at the Playhouse. Cloudflare, which is some kind of caching cloud magic foo-foo internet shit we were pretty much commanded to use by our webhost, just told us we’ve exceeded our limit & took our site down, so, in order to keep from spending more money, we had to stop hosting our “Sick” strip. It was just too popular to live. At least on our budget. You folks will just have to stare off into the horizon & dream of better days, when this half-assed little webcomic will magically transform into a real paper Graphic Novel sometime next year. If the asteroid can wait, that is.
This week we’ve also resolved to take a break from both the internet and alcohol, the two things that mean most to us in life. Well maybe drawing would be up there, but we’ve been taking a break from that too lately, as we’re starting to feel our body shut down with all this inactivity. We started swimming at the public pool, and have taken to strolling about town with our face set in a grim, painfully sober frown. Columbus is a great place sometimes, but we’ve also recently been suffering a profound crisis of faith in ourselves & our decisions in life, & in that light, every decision in every city looks like a bad one. In about a month we turn 40, which feels for all the world like a day of reckoning. Here we are, our potential & youth finally sapped, with nothing but the compromise-slicked gutter-slide of middle age paving our “future.” Time to ask the cosmos: Have we led a life worth living? Have we earned our privileges & our failures? Does a heroin OD even count as “burning out” now that so much of us has already faded away? Will we ever have health insurance? The cosmos can only stare back with its impenetrable deadpan, in silence.
And so, as the bombs rain down on children in Palestine & the black mold slowly creeps across a decimated, black & freezing New York, we can offer little more than silence ourselves. We have less idea of the way forward, for us or for the world, than ever before. And if, as they say about life, it’s not the destination but the journey, we damn sure ain’t doing it right. But we suppose that’s pretty much par for the course these days, & we’re in good company (ourselves) all the way down. Here’s hoping you’re all emotionally stable enough for the coming holidays. And thanks for reading.