Jen Simmons

I was conversing with my husband today regarding a comic book he's been working on for a while, and as frustrating as things are for him to deal with in comics, they are almost MORE infuriating for me.  I'm not really in the industry, which would make one think I had less invested, but I somehow don't let that get in the way of my righteous anger.

I want to smite errant artists with the dictum: "If you wanted to work on this, you would have done so.  Good-day."

A story that is too long for me to relay at this time has made me come to the conclusion that if you're an artist - committed to a project - and you have a genuine interest in working on it, you'll do some work.  Very simple.  It is applicable toward other things in life as well.  You get of your ass when you are motivated by ambition, panic or appetite, and you certainly produce more than two penciled pages in eight months.

This morning on our commute into the city my husband Greg turned to me, and said, "I had a really funny dream about you last night."  Naturally, I was curious and asked him to continue.  He told me in his dream I went to a plastic surgeon for a rhinoplasty, but panicked right before the procedure because I was afraid my "new nose" wouldn't be pierced.  I laughed out loud.  The idea that my concern would be for my piercing rather than my health is hilarious in it's vanity.  And then of course, there's the absurdity of the pretension of concern over my health while having an optional cosmetic surgery.

We laughed about it for a minute, then my husband asked if I would ever really consider getting a nose job.  I told him of course not - I could never save the kind of money it takes for a procedure.  He frowned at me.  The truth is, I have hated my nose since I was 13, when it transformed from the cute button nose of my childhood to the sharp beak I have now.  I have years of self-loathing wrapped up in this obsession. 

Greg thinks it's silly that I have seriously considered plastic surgery an option.  He likes/has always liked/will always like my profile.  On the first night we met, Greg told me that he loves my nose because it gives my face character. 

Character. 

Interesting. 

Unique. 

Unusual. 

All words that cut to the quick. 

All words that skirt around calling someone attractive. 

All I have ever wanted is to be pretty.

I would like to end this with a reassurance to all that I am getting over the size and shape of my nose and learning that beauty comes in all packages, but I don't wear dishonesty well.

I've decided to use this space as a purging ground for whatever might be on my mind at any given time, even to give way for expression of more somber thoughts.

I would normally say I speak all mirth and no matter, but I'm not sure I'm feeling that here.  I'm thinking about all the short stories and anecdotes I've been urged to write by my husband, and how this might be the best forum for sharing them. 

All the stories are grounded in reality, though not all real - they are a healthy mix of my own partial, prejudiced and ignorant opinions and sometimes a little fiction to make them read better. :)

Sorry, I've never done this before, and have no idea yet what to post.  Thank you for stopping by, though.