The Happiness in Nothing Special

August 3, 2026

Tonight's play... Nothing special. Blobs of chance prancing in shadow. An interrupted contemplation interpreting the figment of release. The long-awaited exhale tingling to expand. Brecciated completeness. A digital mop. Droplets missing from a dried out palette.

Why do I enjoy the freedom of this so much? I would be annoyed in any other media at any other time, but there is pleasure in this. I think it might be because I'm making a mess that I don't need to clean up. I'm really not sure. It's just there, and it can be deleted with the touch of a button and zero guilt.

I talk a big talk about downsizing my studio, but fuck that's hard to do. Everything has potential, and I grate at knowing I'll likely just go and repurchase down the line. I need a mental adjustment.

I know why I'm not investing in making what I want to. It's nothing to share here. It will definitely pass in a positive direction, but I do feel that need to wait. Like the moment just isn't right. I do want to finish the one project, but realistically there's no place for it, and there will be even less of a place for it in the future. I need to come to terms with size. Maybe I just need to come to terms with me...

I got a pink dress today. Pink! A beautiful high/low number with what I call peek-a-boo sleeves. It was available in black. I've worn two colors 99% of the time for the last eight years or so. One of them being black. My closet used to have much more variation than it currently has.

I'm not sure what I feel about the pink. I think those colors represent my softer, more vulnerable side. Am I allowing that out to play again? I'm not sure. I think I might be. I'm really not sure if the pink still exists within. I imagine it could. It currently feels a bit unsettling. I may have moved on from it, but I do know I gravitate towards the pink dress instead of the black. It surprised me. It's something I need to consider.

I am grateful for the opportunity to fumble my way back towards a more complete me. Life often escorts us into roles that we didn't choose, or maybe we did choose them but weren't aware of what that choice would mean. We release little pieces of ourselves, outgrow others, and even have some stolen.

My birthday is in a few months. I don't know why I continue to be surprised by my age. I probably always will be. I feel a major shift continuing to happen. Not just in the world—in myself. Maybe that's why I'm finding such joy in just throwing color on a digital page.