Post-Traditional Stress Disorder
Ah kaint drar no mor. Sheut.
Sadness reigns.
Maybe I have been struggling the last few days, but time waits for no man! Or ma'am. The clock is ticking, the countdown to Amycon fast approaching its end, and there is much to do in Berb's household, that I may be prepared for this visit. Dogs washed, check. Clothing and bedding washed, check. Vacuuming: yet to be done, but it takes nary a moment anyhow. Time to go staple myself to the drafting table. She will be visiting, I will be arting pretty much the entire time. One of the many cool things about that, however, is I will be spending some of my days with a good old-fashioned pencil in my hands. I am going back to my first and favorite of mediums, something I haven't had as my default for months. This explains the mental carbon that needs to be blown from the pipes. (Mind the exhaust.) There may even be time to sketch Miz Amy herself. Knock on wood.
I tell you now the saga of my Pooch, Ellie Mae, that you should know it. Massive kudos to all those who sent her Good Vibes. It paid off, people. Yesterday the splint came off her Miracle Leg. She went for a walk in the park after dinner last night, the first walk she's been on in twenty-eight days. Things aren't totally back to normal. She walks with her Miracle Leg but any bursts of speed turn her back into a three-legged hopping machine. She is gimping a little less than yesterday. Tomorrow I report to the vet on her condition.
If the improvement continues, then huzzah! We wait for a while until Berby's bank account fills up, then drain it again for the cruciate surgery she needs for her right leg. Yep, she's got problems with both rear legs. I don't want to touch her right leg until her left has had the opportunity to fully heal.
If her Miracle Leg fails to get any better, she'll need to get her ankle fused. Berby fills bank account, drains it again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Weep. But that's the way it's gonna be, without any hesitation on my part. Money I can earn. Every day I get with Ellie in my life is a single flash of joy that won't get a replay. Circumstances such as what lead to the dogbite notwithstanding.
Be well, Friends o' mine. I'll see you on the far side of two landscapes, two figure paintings, and a bunch of environment sketches.
Sadness reigns.
Maybe I have been struggling the last few days, but time waits for no man! Or ma'am. The clock is ticking, the countdown to Amycon fast approaching its end, and there is much to do in Berb's household, that I may be prepared for this visit. Dogs washed, check. Clothing and bedding washed, check. Vacuuming: yet to be done, but it takes nary a moment anyhow. Time to go staple myself to the drafting table. She will be visiting, I will be arting pretty much the entire time. One of the many cool things about that, however, is I will be spending some of my days with a good old-fashioned pencil in my hands. I am going back to my first and favorite of mediums, something I haven't had as my default for months. This explains the mental carbon that needs to be blown from the pipes. (Mind the exhaust.) There may even be time to sketch Miz Amy herself. Knock on wood.
I tell you now the saga of my Pooch, Ellie Mae, that you should know it. Massive kudos to all those who sent her Good Vibes. It paid off, people. Yesterday the splint came off her Miracle Leg. She went for a walk in the park after dinner last night, the first walk she's been on in twenty-eight days. Things aren't totally back to normal. She walks with her Miracle Leg but any bursts of speed turn her back into a three-legged hopping machine. She is gimping a little less than yesterday. Tomorrow I report to the vet on her condition.
If the improvement continues, then huzzah! We wait for a while until Berby's bank account fills up, then drain it again for the cruciate surgery she needs for her right leg. Yep, she's got problems with both rear legs. I don't want to touch her right leg until her left has had the opportunity to fully heal.
If her Miracle Leg fails to get any better, she'll need to get her ankle fused. Berby fills bank account, drains it again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Weep. But that's the way it's gonna be, without any hesitation on my part. Money I can earn. Every day I get with Ellie in my life is a single flash of joy that won't get a replay. Circumstances such as what lead to the dogbite notwithstanding.
Be well, Friends o' mine. I'll see you on the far side of two landscapes, two figure paintings, and a bunch of environment sketches.