Caleb Orecchio here reporting from Calypso’s island
I’m mad at myself. I am in the middle of moving (geographically I am literally in between my old place and new place) and have been separated from my cartooning tools. At this point I am not sure if I left them at the place I was living or if I left them at the place I am moving into. I currently reside somewhere between those two places in hopes I can get a car at a decent price to continue the journey.
Ah the life of a cartoonist. At times I feel like Theseus looking for trouble and overcoming it with valor and grace. At other times, I am Odysseus, plaything of the gods. Stranded for years upon an island I cannot escape. I think a lot of cartoonists, particularly veterans, feel like Odysseus. Slave to the whims of the gods they have offended and the ones they have glorified. Hungry to fill their banquet hall with the blood of those who have trespassed upon them.
It feels good to complain. Complaining can be of good use if you can triangulate your gripes and nullify them.
Really I feel like Hercules. Hoping my labors can exult me as immortal to the heavens, or at least in the Billy Ireland collection for eternity. I’ll shoot an arrow at the Sun if I have to.