This is how I’ve felt the last fifteen years.

Text:

Computer: “You are an ungrateful brat. Love, Dad.”

Text bubble: “I see a mistake!”

Annie Cat has many talents.

They include:

1. Getting cat hair on EVERYTHING.

2. Being super needy (and not explaining anything).

Annie: “MEOW!”

Andrea: “WHAT?!”

3. Destroying my apartment.

Annie: “RAWR!”

4. Throwin’ up dinner.

5. Escaping.

6. Not letting me get up in the morning.

To be fair, I “drew” these under the influence of several drinks surrounded by people who kept bothering me.

Guest Bloggers

I went to Tandem late yesterday for jazz night and to do a bit of doodling. I ran into two friends who insisted on contributing. Their identities will not be revealed to protect their…integrity? Or something like that.

1. Keep on keepin’ on!

With a good book!

2. Earth Existence

3. Temp

4. Um…someone kicked in the balls?

5. Moses

6. A…poem?

6. Fire Crotch! (Little-known superhero)

7. More…poetry?

8. This is when I stopped asking questions.

9. The Spider

10. The Vulture

11. Death come upon me.

12. “Why is it that I’m unable to tell you I think you’re the most amazing, pretty, most interesting girl I’ve ever met?”

“Bartender, another beer.”

(Obviously, not about me.)

13. “You’re welcome.” (This is Gabe killing my cat.)

THE END!

Mom —

I miss you more than you could imagine.

I want to fight again.

[I was feeling incredibly sad about losing my mom last night, got wickedly drunk off of hardly any alcohol (okay, I had seven), and drew a shitty picture. This is it.]

An old Christmas card

I made this while sitting at Penn Station (see below) preparing to go to Vermont to see my family.

All the drinking I did this year

was preparation for the holiday season.

Quote: “Stand up straight!”

Quote: “Sorry, Mom!”

Happy holidays from the scrap paper blog.

Love,

Andrea

(Cheers!)

Just sitting here at Penn Station

on the slow road toward what others call “family vacation” and I’ve nicknamed “hell.”

If things are going to be out of control

I am going to be out of fucking control.

[Editor's note: I think this means I will probably end up at Wreck Room, drink until I unlearn everything I learned yesterday, and then drink some more.]

RIP Andrea Fjeld

30 November 2009

Crushed under her own books.

Drawing alone at a Ruby Tuesday’s

Look how far I’ve come.

[I had an hour in Philadelphia and reverted to old habits. WIN!]

[moping]