Originally posted on Emily Bloor:
Last night I couldn’t sleep. It’s not like insomnia is a a new phenomenon, but for me it is. I usually sleep like a baby, or like my brother after a Friday night in the pub; you get my drift. But drift I did not, and it was horrendous. It would appear that I don’t have as much to worry about at the moment, since I quit my job, left the frantic insomniac that is London and moved to this sunny, slow-paced place to become a writer. But this is the very problem. I am now consumed by trivial worry; the ironic kind of worry that busy people don’t have the time for. Along with this new worry however, has come a solitude in simple things, and one of those things is sketching. I sketch day and night; through the entire Super Bowl, much to the delight of my man; and through my insomnia. But in Googling inspiration for my sketches (my drawing hand works at 3am, my brain does…