Good morning, good evening, good afternoon. The day that phrase stops sounding good to me is the day that I stop loving art as a whole. Which is never, by the way.
For some odd reason, I remember having to read my journal for the class one day. Why, I don’t know. I start rambling on in my usual spiel, all casual-like, and someone stops me and says that i didn’t write that and it sounded like I was making it up as I went along. I just stared at her. What reason did I have to make anything up as I went? I’m not you: I LIKE writing. I couldn’t speak it as though I were speaking? Was I too eloquent for the room? Whatever… Another memory that proves that I’m just too different for my time, I guess.
I should really do the job thing again, but I’m in the middle of some art for someone. I’m not saying who. I’m just going to keep working on it, quietly in the shadows…
Speaking of jobs, I’ll have to use the house phone for a while. My phone is out. No phone means they can’t call me and tell me that they need another wage slave. You know, like me. In any case, I can solve that, but I just need some time. Some art supplies. A scanner. And a PayPal account.
I’m thinking about trying a Polyphasic sleep cycle. Sounds simple enough; two hour naps and six hour awake-times. This is me extrapolating time out of a hardly-polished wiki article. I figure that if I’m going to be awake until the wee hours of the morning, I should at least pony-up an excuse for it.
Thank you, and have a nice day.
