My workspace (pic taken about a week ago).
A self-portrait taken in a mirror that I have in the corner of my space.
Albus being needy. (Can you see my paint brushes jutting out from beneath him? He was being such a pest, but he was feeling under the weather, and who isn't needy then?)
And Etc.
I had a good day today. I got up early and ran some errands. In the morning I hit up Target for some general household stuff. In the afternoon I went by the clay supply store and bought two new sets of carving tools along with some other little do-dads, brushes and squeeze bottles and the like. In the evening I went to the studio. I'm working on some new things, very limited edition because they're little things that take a lot of time. After I got home from the studio, Dave and I had dinner. (He made lentil salad and together we made tabouleh to go with it. For dessert we had the last of the blackberries with chocolate sorbet.)
Anyway, the point isn't that I did all those things. The point is that I actually had a good day. I don't talk a lot about it because it's tedious for others to have to listen to and disheartening for me to talk about, but I don't have many good days. Why today was different, I have no idea. Normally at this time of year I'm hiding under the bed, waiting for this time of year to be over.
Maybe it's the books I've been making my way through, one a copy of When Panic Attacks by David Burns, the other a copy of Consider the Lobster and Other Essays by David Foster Wallace. The Burns book I've been making my way through for about a year; I've never read any DFW which is a damn shame.
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