Blothering

I am only really productive under a deadline, but I really hate feeling pressured.

So basically, he hates accomplishing things. That's great.

I set out to write a play for a contest in the two weeks after I got out of performing in a show before the deadline. This is proving a taxing process - not because I'm terribly busy, but simply because most of my day is spent doing other things (working, among others) and feeling bad that I'm not working on the play right then.

Add to that the sinking feeling that Lady Rose is right about this play -

(of course she is)

- and I'm in a sort of creative whirlwind with a solid core of mope. I can't wait for the busy to subside so the mope can fully surface.

Yes, folks, he really is this addicted to melancholy. No wonder he's a writer. Sheesh.

For your viewing pleasure: my self portrait.

Why do I blother?

There goes the neighborhood

One day of -30C weather and then it will warm up again.

Seriously, people, I'm joining the apocalypse gang.

Also, I'm doing this at work. I am supposedly swamped at work, but have to wait for stuff on each of several projects. I suppose if the Madre actually came to work she could answer my question and I could work on her project. Her loss.

Portrait of a Transportation department:

The Big Bosses

The Ninjas

The Moms

The BlanksfromBeyond

and working beneath (beside? around? in stead of?) these engineering factions? Me and CrazyBirdLady.

I also make "art" at work. (see above)