So. Campaign for the next trump in Tarot Apocalyptica is up and live — The Magician.
It’s funny, but this is harder than the first.
I’m in the hole right now. Anxiety brain is trying to eat me and depression has me low. I’m still functional, just slow today. I’m figuring out how to make all of this work. Even while bits of my brain wind themselves in knots of self-loathing.
The Fool is coming along, I dare say brilliantly. The staff is almost complete, and I have the materials for the Fool’s pack to cut. I found a piece of faux leather left over in one of the work bins from a while back that’s perfect. Embossed peacock eyes. Small scale, so it won’t read that well in the image, but I know it’s there. I cling to the work and bury myself in it while I wait to see my shrink at the end of the month. Art as treatment modality.
Which is good. Isis (one of the cats) pushed a bowl off my desk and it shattered. That was how this morning started. I feel somewhat like the bowl. The day got off to a very rough start.
So I shall paint my face like Furiosa and fang it.
There’s still seventy-eight months of work and some change ahead of me. The Magician awaits.
I need your help. I’m hoping you’ll keep riding this war rig with me. Please support directly by pledging to the campaign or spread the word. Just the last bit alone is a huge thing, as getting heard is sometimes the hardest part of these things.
I am really looking forward to riding further with you. It’s a doozy.