Strokes of Genius, Thursday (9/17)
Katchoo had gone and replaced her radio in time to catch last night's broadcast, and no, it wasn't the report about her that had her cranky (oh, because that was a surprise) today; that part made her laugh, honestly. She'd just love it if the squirrels would stop reporting on the comings and goings of Francine's underwear any time soon. Argh. And Ethics had, as always, been uncomfortable enough without factoring in the fun-filled recurring dreams that had preceded waking up and going to class.
. . . sigh. Drinking tonight -- not in her room, not within squirrel-range -- was going to be such a welcome frikkin' relief.
More clocks today, but in acrylics slapped and jabbed onto the canvas with brushes that'd never be the same again. Their sacrifice made for a jagged, spiky texture that fit Katchoo's mood well, though.
[OOC: And the old black rum's got a hold of me, will I live for an OCD-free day, HEEEEEEEEEEEY, will I -- *ahem*]
. . . sigh. Drinking tonight -- not in her room, not within squirrel-range -- was going to be such a welcome frikkin' relief.
More clocks today, but in acrylics slapped and jabbed onto the canvas with brushes that'd never be the same again. Their sacrifice made for a jagged, spiky texture that fit Katchoo's mood well, though.
[OOC: And the old black rum's got a hold of me, will I live for an OCD-free day, HEEEEEEEEEEEY, will I -- *ahem*]