Then, to make up for all that time wasted "being creative," I did this:
|...meaning I spent a few hours here|
I swear to Lisa Frank, all this technology will be the end of me. That photo up there? This is the third place you can find it within my circle of Internet control-ery. As in, Facebook and Instagram are all abuzz of me doing something besides sharing blog posts and stalking people from High School. But in case you're not keeping tabs on me at all times through all channels of stalker-ism, here it is. I will say that it feels damn good to put a brush to canvas again. And not at all in like a I-forced-myself-to-do-this-so-I-don't-die-a-meaningless-cat-filled-death, either. That'll be in tomorrow's forecast.
It is interesting, though. I've been hearing the Reaper's coffee breath at my shoulder all week, what with this hacking cough and Seattle-esque brain fog and all. But eternal rest be damned, as soon as I started painting I felt a tickle of my normal self at my ribcage (THE WORST PLACE to be tickled, in case you're wondering). It reminds me of this time in Europe when I thought my head was in danger of splitting in half and I tried to take a bath in this giant jacuzzi but couldn't figure out how to turn it on. And the hot water ran out at about 2 inches. And then some other stuff happened I felt a whole lot better. Hmm....that might have to be an upcoming post. Whaddya think? More meaningful-self-centered-mumbo-jumbo tomorrow? I CAN HEAR YOUR ENTHUSIASM FROM HERE.
Enjoy your evening, lovelies. Me and my bed will, too.