So there are two, large, forbidding watermelons blocking my access to the coffeemaker. I have not yet done a full-on Gallagher. Thinkin' bout it though. All hail the allmighty coffee mug.
I've been neglecting the ol' window into my personal thoughts. (And everything else besides.) I finished Wolves of the Calla
and am now a hop, skip and jump away from the end of Song of Susannah
Lemme just say this: Anybody familiar w/the Dark Tower
series is going in understanding that it's
surreal... At one point SoS
(<--funny, no?) got SO surreal I had to hide it for about 6 hours. It was so surreal it made my brain hurt, lemme put it dat way.
So yeah, that part of the book is over but I know the boys are coming back to it at some point and I think it may play a part in the final book. Don't quote me on that, it's just a hunch. Regardless, #7 is going to be the hardest to get through...whenever it decides it's necessary to grace us with its presence.
Ok, so I'm getting prints together for Comic Con
(I'm excited. This will get a few people off my back about a couple of things regardless of how I do.) And everything else is getting lost in the shuffle of my brain kicking into overdrive on this thing. (Muchas big luv to those that helped me figure out what should go.
) I get myself all geared up to start something or finish something or just do something art related and WHAM!
I'm not sure where to go with that WHAM...I'm not sure what happened. I was carrying a case/flat of bottled water, went to set it down and something audibly and tangibly went POP in my wrist. It was not funny. Pain, numbness, mild panic... Seems to be about 98% ok (relatively speaking) today.
But the Hawk is good. The weasels are good. The dogs are good. The gel pens Sy and Demmy brought me are good (even the one that exploded and had to be buried at sea). I've lost my ability to whomp the tar outta SEGA's Sonic...oh just pick a game, I can't whomp any of them right now. It's as if I never played.
But enough of that, I've got literally a million things to do.
Me and my burgandy hair better get on it. Fear my scary editedness in the title bar. Go on. Fear.