It ruined me

 "Streaming ruined gaming for me for YEARS. It took me ages to find that part of myself again" 

- u/OhGodImHerpin on Reddit

I was considered destined to be an artist. The oldest was going to be a writer, I was going to be an artist, and the youngest, a natural entertainer because it's that or starve if you're the youngest/smallest/weakest, was going to be an entertainer. 

I was continually having drawing materials put into my hands, and I was probably known as the kid whose hands always had ink all over them (from pens) because that was pretty much the case. 

Both parents were frustrated artists, and I think the fact that I showed any interest in drawing as any kid would, plus my eyesight being so bad, the idea was I'd become this genius nearly-blind artist and save the family fortunes. 

As we became poorer and poorer, art-for-fun (I loved drawing my seashells) became art to make money, and I really tried my best but the internal motivation was not there. It had already become a job. 

I spent tons of time as a teen thinking there must be something wrong with me that I'm "talented" (I am not, but tons of successful artists are not) and thus I should love doing art, should do it instead of surfing, fishing, shell collecting, skateboarding, reading books, all the usual kid things. 

I really tried to push myself, thinking that would make me *want* to do it for hours a day, but that never worked. I could do it, but I was never actually all that interested. 

This same thing is why I think my mother was so miserable. Her mother was a tailor; took classes and could make a suit from scratch, really something. She probably loved it. She also gardened and had a number of plots of land in Pasadena that she gradually sold off as finances demanded. 

The thing is,  I think my mother showed some interest in the tailoring, and then was pushed to do it. My mother would become this great tailor and/or designer, and save the family fortunes... And my mother really tried. She could sew, all right, but I don't think her heart was in it. And she was miserable. Because here's this thing you know how to do, but you don't have any internal motivation to do it because it's become this thing you have to do, or are supposed to do. 

It seems simple as hell but it's taken me a long time to realize this. The first hint of this kind of thing is how Fielding Benson, noted surfer Becky Benson's younger brother, was being pushed to become this champion surfer (he was our neighbor) and instead liked to skateboard and do usual obnoxious kid things. The Bensons were a kind of surfing royalty, with their father, "Colonel" Benson financing and filming a lot of surfing movies, and here was the crown prince not doing his duty. 

The thing is, there's art I did love, I loved comics and once I was exposed to them, "underground" comics. But I knew that if artists don't make a living, underground cartoonists *really* don't make a living. Plus you can get in real trouble poking even the mildest fun at, well, anything or anyone, in visual art.  

I'd packed a bunch of things last night, packed a few more today, and took my big load to the post office and FedEx. 

Running on financial fumes because of my rule of putting my $400 weekly pay check into the bank and taking $200 out and that's it, that $200 is my allowance. But I got what I need. 

It's been cloudy and grey and not all that windy, but like a big lid has been put over the valley, made of cloud/fog. Kind of neat really. Not primo busking weather though. 

It's hard for me to concentrate on busking when I've got a million plans going through my mind about what to sell off, what to give away, and how to at least go through the motions here and keep the sales numbers good.