Hey y’all. It’s Sunday. Mom‘s still in her bedroom, with Chaucer standing guard outside the door. He can see it’s open a little, but he won’t push it open. He waits.
My coffee isn’t kicking in fast enough. It never does, but I’d notice if I don’t have it. I missed it the post-concussion week I where didn’t drink it. Whether it’s the routine, or the caffeine, I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps a little of both.
We did grocery shopping yesterday, and we were in and out fairly quickly. I only had a couple of things to pick up. Half my total was because I needed to buy more cat food. Brian’s parents are away until this afternoon, so we didn’t need to go to the Compound for anything. Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain we were invited for dinner tonight.
I managed to get some more painting done. One of the Christmas presents is almost finished, and I’ll only need to find a frame for it. I’ll let Mom deal with getting it to the giftees. I love the way it’s turning out. I feel like every painting is a little better than the last, but I also feel like some some things will never improve. House portraits? Straight lines? Lighthouses? I can handle that. Landscapes? Shit from my mind? Fuck that noise.
Oh well. It’s Sunday, it’s sunny out, and I should probably get dressed or something. You know, the usual stuff I do to give the appearance of wanting to exist as a functioning adult.
