Scratching an Itch
Since sometime early this week, my hands have felt strange, like they’d gone to sleep and were just waking up, like they were filled with a nervous energy eager to burst out from my fingers. I knew immediately what it was: I wanted to draw.
I used to draw all the time. All. The. Time. I doodled, sketched, mostly pencil, a little charcoal now and again. This was a long time ago though. In high school, I let it drift mostly. By the time I graduated, I’d mostly given it up. Other than some bored office meeting doodles, the urge had completely drifted away. Until now.