I don't know what kind of vile notion possessed me to decide to not sleep for a night because it would be a "good idea". I'm starting to suspect that I have become some sort of personal, demented-alcoholic father figure to myself as I exhort various asinine precepts in the inebriate hope that I might "toughen up". Nevertheless, here I am: red-eyed, despondent and feeling as if my skin has shrunk two sizes too small.
The already tedious task of human interaction is made more awkward by impending narcolepsy. I met up with my benefactor to pour over the children's book illustrations, but it's looking pretty good. We're surprisingly happy with the progress. I resolve to hate those drawings in about a week's time (but no less).
Mandy, you're creeping me out because my radio alarm roused me from my non-sleeping stupor and it was the Pet Shop Boys. On local pop radio.
Also, it's sweet when you're thinking of calling someone and then they the phone rings and it's them. Nice one, Amber.
I have to go pick up some more ink and bristol board, and I have cheques to cash. I can always sleep when I'm dead. Onwards graphite and ink!
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