Crazy pants

It's 1:30 AM.

I should have been in bed four hours ago, because

I'm supposed to get up and start my day four hours from now.

Instead I'm wide awake and covered in glue.

Early Thursday morning (a mere 30 hours from now) I will be on a runway at Logan Airport, about to take off for San Francisco and the Ex Postal Facto conference.

I am ridiculously excited about this, but as the day looms, I am becoming increasingly crazy.

At first it was just a "I have so much to do before I leave" kind of crazy.  The kind of crazy in which I make endless checklists and hold meetings, and send emails and make spreadsheets.

But then it turned into a "let's invent things to worry about" kind of crazy.

The brand of worry that comes from being an introvert (disguised as an extrovert) faced with 4 days of non-stop social interaction with people I barely know.

(and let my qualify that - anyone I've known for less than 20 years is someone I "barely know")

In spite of the fact that I haven't packed, and haven't done a half-dozen other more critical missions, I decided I could not possibly go to San Francisco until my taxes were done.  So yes, little-miss-crazy-pants did her taxes tonight.

and ate a bunch of dark chocolate while she did it, even though it was already well past her bedtime.

At 10:30, when I was done and buzzing, and compulsively clicking on stupid internet videos and sending ridiculous texts to my west coast friends who were still awake thanks to the time difference, I decided what I needed more than sleep was art.

well DUH!

I have been completely neglecting my creative needs for the last week.

A half-hearted attempt to get a postcard series going over the weekend lay spread on my table in careless neglect.  All of my mental energy has gone into spinning my wheels and needlessy worrying.

So at last, for a few sweet stolen hours, the crazy pants were turned back into the art pants.  

This series of postcards emerged.  

They may or may not be done, but either way they will be packed in my suitcase, and perhaps mailed from San Francisco.

All were made with Citra-solv papers, gelli printed papers, vintage photos (from a thrift store photo album) and odd bits of old science textbooks.

I know tomorrow will be a surreal day of sleep deprivation and haphazard preparation.  I will probably end up packing too many art supplies and not enough underwear, but it will all be worth it.

I'm grounded.

I'm calm.
I'm ready.

Moral of the story: never trade the art pants for the crazy pants.

SF here I come!