I finish up my illustration assignment, which is a biweekly gig for the Globe and Mail for their dating column. This week’s is about buying lingerie as a gift, which means I get to draw underwear. It is a good life.
I use the afternoon to do some major surgery on my studio, which looks like hoarders live in it. I have recently bought an old tanker desk from some friends who are moving, and its interpolation into my hoard necessitates no small amount of rearranging. Midway through all this I find my high school diary and spend about forty minutes marveling at what a dreadful, self-centered, droopy-drawers little mess I was in the early ’90s. When all of this is over with, I fix some problems with the CD artwork. Why didn’t I know how awesome InDesign is? I am filled with despair at my own inutility. When night comes, I meet a friend for drinks. She is going through a bit of a rough time, which we wipe away with whiskey and cigarettes as best we can. See how willing I am to take one for the team?
Emily Flake is an award-winning illustrator, writer, and cartoonist. Her work appears in Time, The New Yorker, The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Forbes, The Nation, and many, many others.