 I was going to read to you today, and I am going to read to you today, from a diary comic. So I do a diary comic every year, and I do it for the first two weeks of May. I'm going to go to full screen. So this is what happened to me the first two weeks of May. The good thing about this for you is that this is unpublished, and who knows if or when it will be published. I did it all in pencil, which is a first for me, because I genuinely work in ink. As of May 1st, there is a new website that tells you how old you look. That's me. If you want, if you need an impression, I can show you. The dog is still wearing a cone. I can see! She had retinal reattachment surgery two weeks ago. I came home from a trip and my dog was totally blind, because her retina's detached, and then I had a fundraiser, and then I got her retina's reattached. I have been feeling very down in the dumps lately, because A, I've bit a dude in my international lover, drawn here as a sloth and a hat, and B, looking at my travel schedule, I'm overwhelmed. Gulp. I'm teaching in Oregon, then flying to New York, then Texas, then California, then Virginia, oh, in Michigan. Realizing how insane my schedule was yesterday, I got lightheaded. Were you having an anxiety attack? Maybe, I guess. At any rate, I had to lay down. I had a mom where I was like, who made this schedule? It's abusive, and I was like, I made this schedule. And then a package arrived sent by my international lover sloth one week before we called it quits. Nicole's the sweetest. This was the next day. I'm driving down Lombard Street in Portland for the Portlanders. God, I'm being so classist and unfeminist by avoiding eye contact with that woman, so I'm going to sign on the corner. I'm going to make an effort. Robot! There's like the real skinny ones with the wig that our lady had, and they're doing like a constant thing. And I was like, just be a feminist. I was like... Different day. A dog died today. Someone old and rescued. I made his owner a tribute portrait and realized something strong. Purpose in life is not to waste time with immature lesbians. My purpose in life is to help animals and inspire humans. Stay the course. The next day, I saw Greg at Powell's, who's a dog hater. And guess who asked Ponyo to kiss him on the cheek? It was Greg. I had to bring Ponyo my service dog in a bag. She wasn't allowed to be alone because of her cone. We watched Jillian Tamaki talk. She read tweets from teenagers who were boycotting a cookie cost increase. I would rather eat ass than pay $1.25 for a cookie. Great hair. She must have layers. It's all too much for me. Next day. But the dog got her cone off today. That's at the ophthalmologist, that's the eyeball. Do I need to turn this a different way? No, it's just up there. Oh, okay. The next day I went to the suburbs for a writing conference. I called Beth Pickens, who I call Mary Potter. That's a local reference for you. Mary Potter, I have so much gossip for you. Oh, good. I got a sick salad at Native Foods, the vegan Applebee's, and filled my sick, flu, different from salad, friend and on Portland's ongoing tragic comedies. I listened to the Goldfinch in the car. All the characters in this book are men, except for a wavy muse. I'm not convinced that Donna Tart is not a man. We can talk about that later. I just remembered when I dated Jeb, I would tell her I didn't care if she was a janitor, I would still love her. I said this when she was mid-career stressing about being a musician, and apparently I said this so often that she finally said, George, I'm starting to think you want me to be a janitor. I'd still love you. I don't actually want to be a janitor. It's a great job, lots of time alone. I'm a musician, you have to stop saying that. It's still true. It sounds like a great job with a lot of time alone. That night I went to the club and saw Chelsea Starr. So a girl on Tinder said to me, what are you up to? And I say shredding my to-do list, and I never heard back. Can I tell you what I think? Yeah, it sounds like you were brushing her off. Really? Like you had better things to do. Oh, well I did. And this is my super sexy clubbing outfit. If someone thinks I'm brushing them off by not pretending to be bored, then they deserve it. I'm not going to pretend to be hornily languishing somewhere, just waiting for a stranger. And so went Nicole's internet dating career. The morning after Ponyo got her cone off, we laid in the backyard on a beach towel in the sun, canoodling in pajamas. Then I swear Ponyo made a ball appear by magic. Then I came inside and texted with a cartoonist named Noah Van Skiver about his upcoming fellowship at the Center for Cartoon Studies. Where did you live? Noah, I lived in an apartment owned by an old woman after living in a house called Muff Mansion because it's the only place in town where women used to live. Noah, I think you will love it there. It is so beautiful. Should I live in a hotel? Yes. We are part of a secret society of fellows. When I was there, I went retro and dated a man, and it was a scandal. An astronomer! I was happy to provide drama for the year I was there. When I got back to Portland, I kissed the ground. It is my home. I'm having a renewed interest in litigra after hearing Kathleen Hannah lecture. This is me doing my front yard. This is my yard doing outfit. I taught all morning. When you're nervous, sweat starts flying off of you. Then I launched a fundraiser campaign for Ponyo and my dog over lunch. Stop barking! Dear humans, please help my dear dog. I changed clothes before traipsing downtown to teach at Portland State University. I resent that I'm clothed at all. Wearing a bra, it's unjust. I have never felt more like a mom than now. I have pink toenails and a Frappuccino. They even offered me a cookie straw but I had palm oil in it, so I didn't do it. Lawn work to litigra day two. Post backyard mow. Don't let them bring you down and don't let them fuck you around because these are your arms out of your heart. Anyway, this is your time. This is your life. Keep on. Keep on living. This is my shed. I'm just sitting in the shed. A piece of furniture I dragged in off the neighbor's sidewalk that they were trying to give away. This is me living. Part two. Here's part two. This is the long epilogue to my diary comic. I eat a bunch of days summarized into one comic. I flew to New York. Ah, you're crushing me! Seat reclining. It's not so great. I was just trying to grade papers for a college class. This is the noise I make now when people in front of me recline their seat when I'm using the tray table. It's very effective if you want them to put the seat back up. I went to New York for the Queers in Comics Festival. This is Ellen Forney. Holly Bemis, my agent. Jennifer Camper. Trina Robbins. Mary Wings. Roberta Gregory. A lot happened at the conferences. Too much to write here. There's Alison Bechdel behind the fun home sign. Alison is behind the sign because she got swarmed by fans when she showed up. I'll tell you, I met the women who published the first lesbian comics in the United States. I saw a fun home on Broadway. I have a good deal of anxiety around distracting people with my wrestling and snacking habit. This is like an X-ray view of my bag. You can always find where I am in public, because you'll either... If you can't hear my voice, it's because I'm talking shit about somebody. Generally, you can either hear my voice in the room or if I'm meant to be quiet like this, you'll hear a wrestling as I'm moving stuff around in my bag to make sure it's still there. Always arranging, traveling with a Sherpa horde with bags and backpacks full of comforts. Crunch, crunch. The real gritty story to tie up a loose end is that I succeeded at Tinder. I am here until Sunday, meaning I did not blow someone off. Traveling is so hot that I practically have scurvy for malnutrition. Are you salting your canker before your date? That's my host. So I went on a date with a stranger who did not end up being a serial killer. Oh my God, I'm so late. Someone tries to kidnap me on the way there because it's after dark. I'm so hyped on adrenaline I yell, I'm late for a date and push them away. And I did think of the international sloth sometimes. Hi, it's me. So you want a Moscow Mule? It's been a long day. It's been a long year. But I had to try this living in real time idea. This back on the horse and remembering that the world is large and life is long and you never know what you're going to meet next. Who you're going to meet next? What if? What if? What if? Can you occupy both spaces at once? One for grief and respect and one for relaxed joy? I'm not sure, but I try. Can we go get French fries? Sure. Epilogue to the epilogue. As of May 12th, Ponyo can still see and her surgery got fully funded. Thank you, Planet Earthlings. The end.