I've been reading a book. 

The book* itself doesn't matter, but one of the characters is a 1500-year-old vampire—give or take a few. 

No, it's not Twilight, please give me a little credit.

And while I was supposed to be fantasizing about this vampire's vintage car with kid leather cream interior, chiseled chest, ripped abs, and cashmere* sweater collection, I found myself fantasizing about all that TIME. 

Can you imagine dedicating 100 years to learning a subject, learning all the languages, or honing a skill set? 

Can you imagine the places you could visit and live, experiencing every morsel of culture and ethical cuisine? 

Can you imagine the opportunities for snacking?

The amount of art you could make? 

The number of cards you could fold, stuff, and price? 

The number of hours you could dedicate to decoding Etsy's search engine optimization.

I've never had the desire to be immortal or live past my scheduled expiration date until now - because I have been lusting for more time like a vampire lusts for the hot, fresh, thick, viscous blood of an undergrad.

The FOAS Scale

You see, I have been pegged at a 10.2 on the FOAS scale for the last few weeks. 

The FOAS scale is a scale I made up.
You are welcome to use it, but I hope you don't need it. 

Pronounced: "Foe Ass". 

FOAS = Fucking Overwhelmed As SHIT

Before becoming a working artist, my life was beyond calm; no kids, a small, angry old dog, and a husband who spent most of his time working on a boat in the middle of the ocean, there were few pressures on my time. You could describe my time as languid.

Fast-forward to the day I decided to become a working artist, and through every fault of my own, I have been in a dead sprint ever since. 

Please don't get me wrong; this has been a joyous and exciting sprint. Making art and running a business is fucking wild! 

Like you can just start a business.
There is no one to stop you. 

Anyone can do it.

However, I am beginning to get a skosh winded.
Hence, the FOAS scale.
Back to the last few weeks (did I say weeks? AAAAHAHAHAHAHA, I meant months…years?). 

I started working part-time at The Arts Center (because, bills).  I am so grateful to have landed in such a charming place full of the most lovely people, but I have even less time to: 

• Run a business.

• Be a functioning member of the For ArtSake Gallery Artist Collective, in charge of social media, PR, graphic design, and marketing.

• Make art.

• Feed myself.

• Feed the dog. 

• Walk the dog.  

• I don't have time to clean that.

• Those weeds are pretty; just leave them. 

• That rotten deck board is a drainage feature.

• Where is my neck, and why are my shoulders always touching my ears?

• Everyone's jaw aches all the time - it's fine. 

… What is sleep?! 

This is to say there has been a low hum, a fuzz, and a constant fizz in my head. 

I've been having trouble focusing and sleeping. 

I couldn't get anything done. 

I was having trouble being still, and I felt unmoored and adrift a lot of the time. I was pinging between needing to do all the things, being overwhelmed, and catatonically staring at my phone.  

Overwhelm had me caught in an undertow like a tipsy springbreaker swimming in the aqua-blue Mexican ocean for the first time. There was sand in my swimsuit, water up my nose, ringing in my ears, and I didn't know which way was up. 
(I'm obviously not speaking from experience). 

The Breakup

It was yet another sound emanating from my phone for the dumbest reason imaginable that sent me over the edge. As I picked up the brick of distraction and annoyance to hurl it across the room, I had a moment of clarity. 

I had allowed my phone to fuck up my whole world.

Instead of throwing it with the force of a thousand winds and every expletive I know (and I think we can all agree—I know a lot of expletives).

 I turned it off.

…ahhhh blissful silence. 

The quiet.

The calm.

Even now, thinking about that first moment of freedom brings relief. 

Guess what you get when 

-you don't scroll Instagram for 20-30 minutes every morning, open it twice more before lunch, and scroll six times between dinner and bedtime?
- When you stop checking and attempting to respond to email during dog walks?

-When you ruthlessly unsubscribe from mailing lists from that salad company you ordered takeout from in 2013? Give it a rest Sweetgreen 

-When you turn off all the red dots?

-When you make all the sounds go away?

*Time.

Guess what you get when you don't answer every text message, DM, or Slack Notification the moment it pings in? 

Focus.

Guess what you get when you don't use two different productivity apps, three calendars, and a productivity journal to track your to-do list? 

Less Overwhelm.

Guess what you get when your phone is silent, in the other room, smothered under a pillow, and your do-to list is on a piece of forking paper?

Solitude. 

Quiet. 

Calm. 

A reasonable heart rate.

And a flamingo-shaped drink floaty to rest your Coco Loco umbrella drink on while you free-float on top of the waves in the sun. 

What have I been doing with this new-found focused, calm time?

I've been reading paper hold-them-in-my-hands books - however questionable the choice of content may be.  

And making so much art!

It turns out I don't have to become a hyper-thirsty 1500-year-old murder-vamp-bro to get things done; I just had to kill my phone. 

But, like - if we wanted to become thirsty murder bitches - who is with me?! 😉 

Behold!
All the sketches, studies, and paintings in watercolor, wax, and digital.
As I focus on preparing for the Iris Festival in the upcoming weeks, I hope you will also find more time for art and things non-phone related.

I’m super curious. What would you do with another 100 years? Assuming you had a healthy body and mind to enjoy it in.

~Jill 

*For the super curious, such as myself, the book is "A Discovery of Witches" by Deborah Harkness. I'm only halfway through. It's entertaining, but I won't go so far as to say it's good. 

*Okay, fine. I got a little hot and bothered by a cashmere sweater collection, but who wouldn't?  

*Does not work for toddlers - so very sorry