Random Thoughts
There comes a point where aggravation is almost something solid enough to be throttled.
Sadly, it never fully materializes so you can put it out of your misery.
Things proceed apace. There is glacial progress on the liquidation of my grandparents' estate, but given how I feel about it in general, I'm not going to fidget on the front lawn and say "Hurry up!" The extra time to deal with the unpleasant demise of my childhood memories is certainly appreciated. And even glacial progress is progress. Things will be sorted out to everyone's benefit. At least my grandparents had a will, even if it was an old one.
I'm rounding off another box. Yes, now I'm only two deep in commissions, instead of three. See what a month of taking it easy gets me? Heh. But this one is superior in every way, and I consider it absolutely the pinnacle of coolness. Cooler than all the other cool things I have produced.
Yes, I repeat myself. I realize this. Everything I do is my favorite thing ever. This is how art works. You love each thing more than the last thing. You almost have to, or you'll go mad. If you're not utterly devoted to whatever you're working on, you'll wind up cranky and miserable and suffering for however long it takes you to wrap it up, and that's not a state that lends itself to starting on the next project, or the one after that. In fact, it can make you hate your art form pretty damn fast. So I can be forgiven for some slight overenthusiasm over each new piece.
I'm still saying that this one is fucking fantastic, and the intended recipient will be lucky indeed if she can cram her eyeballs back in their sockets quickly enough to prevent them from freezing due to the emanating waves of frosty coolness. It's mag.
Yeah, there'll be pictures. Of the finished box, not of eyeballs. Yuck.
In other news, our old three-legged dog, who has been officially ailing for quite some time, is reaching the point of creaky and non-functional that leads me to believe that his time is nigh. I'm not broken up about it; Cyrus is really Sargon's dog, and not mine, but I am sad in that I hate to see animals suffer and I hate to think that Sargon might have to make the call to put him down. It's not something either of us have ever had to do, and he's even more ill-prepared for it than I am.
Cyrus has been more needy than ever the past week, and I suspect that he's in pain. He's not eating much, either. We don't know what it is, so he's going to the vet tonight to see if they can tell what's causing it. He's having trouble moving around, which is nothing new for a dog missing one leg, but he's even creakier and more feeble than usual, and his breathing is short and hard.
I also think he's going batty; he seems to forget when he was last outside, and for what, and when we put him out he doesn't always remember to do what he went out there to do. He turns and looks at me like "Was I supposed to pee, or what?" I don't know, dog. I don't know.
At this point I'm just hoping it's something easy to diagnose, so Sargon and I can decide what to do about it instead of wasting more time trying to figure out what it is. If he's hurting, I want it to stop, and I don't much care what I have to do to make that happen. I don't hold with suffering. It makes me intensely broody and intolerable.
Not much else to discuss. I'm busier than I'd like, yet not getting paid enough to make it feel all right. And whose fault is that? I'm afraid it's mine, for slacking. Ah, well. It's work I enjoy.
Speaking of which, I'd best get back to it, hadn't I?
But first: voting!
ETA: Called the vet, and it appears that it's probably canine arthritis, so I'm trying him on painkillers before we take him in to see if that helps. That's at least a simple answer.
Sadly, it never fully materializes so you can put it out of your misery.
Things proceed apace. There is glacial progress on the liquidation of my grandparents' estate, but given how I feel about it in general, I'm not going to fidget on the front lawn and say "Hurry up!" The extra time to deal with the unpleasant demise of my childhood memories is certainly appreciated. And even glacial progress is progress. Things will be sorted out to everyone's benefit. At least my grandparents had a will, even if it was an old one.
I'm rounding off another box. Yes, now I'm only two deep in commissions, instead of three. See what a month of taking it easy gets me? Heh. But this one is superior in every way, and I consider it absolutely the pinnacle of coolness. Cooler than all the other cool things I have produced.
Yes, I repeat myself. I realize this. Everything I do is my favorite thing ever. This is how art works. You love each thing more than the last thing. You almost have to, or you'll go mad. If you're not utterly devoted to whatever you're working on, you'll wind up cranky and miserable and suffering for however long it takes you to wrap it up, and that's not a state that lends itself to starting on the next project, or the one after that. In fact, it can make you hate your art form pretty damn fast. So I can be forgiven for some slight overenthusiasm over each new piece.
I'm still saying that this one is fucking fantastic, and the intended recipient will be lucky indeed if she can cram her eyeballs back in their sockets quickly enough to prevent them from freezing due to the emanating waves of frosty coolness. It's mag.
Yeah, there'll be pictures. Of the finished box, not of eyeballs. Yuck.
In other news, our old three-legged dog, who has been officially ailing for quite some time, is reaching the point of creaky and non-functional that leads me to believe that his time is nigh. I'm not broken up about it; Cyrus is really Sargon's dog, and not mine, but I am sad in that I hate to see animals suffer and I hate to think that Sargon might have to make the call to put him down. It's not something either of us have ever had to do, and he's even more ill-prepared for it than I am.
Cyrus has been more needy than ever the past week, and I suspect that he's in pain. He's not eating much, either. We don't know what it is, so he's going to the vet tonight to see if they can tell what's causing it. He's having trouble moving around, which is nothing new for a dog missing one leg, but he's even creakier and more feeble than usual, and his breathing is short and hard.
I also think he's going batty; he seems to forget when he was last outside, and for what, and when we put him out he doesn't always remember to do what he went out there to do. He turns and looks at me like "Was I supposed to pee, or what?" I don't know, dog. I don't know.
At this point I'm just hoping it's something easy to diagnose, so Sargon and I can decide what to do about it instead of wasting more time trying to figure out what it is. If he's hurting, I want it to stop, and I don't much care what I have to do to make that happen. I don't hold with suffering. It makes me intensely broody and intolerable.
Not much else to discuss. I'm busier than I'd like, yet not getting paid enough to make it feel all right. And whose fault is that? I'm afraid it's mine, for slacking. Ah, well. It's work I enjoy.
Speaking of which, I'd best get back to it, hadn't I?
But first: voting!
ETA: Called the vet, and it appears that it's probably canine arthritis, so I'm trying him on painkillers before we take him in to see if that helps. That's at least a simple answer.