Some days are way, way better than others.
And some days are just a big fat giant pile-drive to the face; I’ve had a lot of those this past year. Many of them were brought on by circumstances pretty much outside of my control. But lately I’ve gotten very skilled at conjuring them up on my own. You may not know this, but I am sometimes a little dramatic. It can be hard for me to separate fiction from reality, and my imagination? Doesn’t even play.
…And it’s exhausting. Today I’m too tired to even deal. I feel like my whole body is underwater, except for my throat, which is on fire, and my chest is on fire, and everything’s on fire because I’m in hell.
Sorry–it’s just that I hate being sick; and also–remember?–I’m dramatic.
But some days are fantastic, and full of fun and laughter and all things adorable. Yesterday I had the equisite privilege of having my portrait drawn by some of the world’s greatest masters of pigmented wax sticks:
This one–so flattering. Look at how skinny I am; the gracefulness displayed in my arms and legs an fingers and toes–and of course, notice the accuracy in the vertical spelling of my name. So impressive.
Who needs selfies on an iPhone when I am in the presence of such skilled artists twice a week?