It's another one of those sleepless nights. And, instead of spending it like I usually do (i.e. reading fanfics and gourging myself on whatever food I chose not to eat while it was still, you know, light outside), I tried battling it out with my muse to create something... anything... that would make an excellent piece.

Three ruined canvases and 20 pages of sketchbook later, and my muse was standing over me with the champ belt held above his head. Cheeky bastard.

There's so much I want to talk about, so much I want to express, but thanks to the visiting relatives it feels like someone shoved a nice, conservative butt plug up my ass. And not in the pleasurable sense.

Plus, the throat still renders it near impossible to eat or drink anything. When I have to fill my stomach up with water so I can properly digest my medication, I have to bite down on the glass to keep from gnawing into my tongue due to the pain.

...

In other news, watched a few short films on IFC, and one of them was about a kindergarten substitute teacher with relationship problems. He's shy, slight of build, dark brown, short hair, and the most adorable puppy dog look?

Could it be Chris Carabba? Naw, didn't have enough ink on his arm. But in the half-dreaming state which I watched it, sometimes I wondered...

This was followed by a film called "Blue City" (one of the few I actually remembered the title of) about a suicidal old man, a lil brat, and two car thieves.

The best scene has to be when the old man drew a circle in chalk on the ground so he knew where to land when he jumped off the roof. Along comes the brat, sees the chalk, sees the circle, and proceeds to add his own graffiti. Meanwhile, up on the roof the old man opens his eyes and looks down... and sees a smiley face looking back at him.

...

I would attempt to sleep, but dad's snores and general company probably won't make that at all possible.