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I'll be honest. Today was not my most productive day. I rolled out of bed at around 10 am after pushing my dog away from my face for about 2 hours. He has the 
annoying habit of always waking up 2 hours before me, sitting next to my bed and licking my face until I roll over to the middle of the bed, where I bury my face under pillows and blankets to escape his slobber. This is part of his strategy. He's a smart dog. As soon as I roll over, he jumps on the bed next to me and spazzes out for about sixty seconds. "Spazzing out" is my description of how he lays on his side, makes himself as long as possible, and then kicks out his legs 7 or 8 times, snorting like an angry bull the entire time. I don't know why he does this, if he has control over it or if he is even aware that he does it. All I know is that every morning, it's the same. Then, he rolls onto his back and put all four paws in the air with his neck stretched back and his head resting gingerly on what was my pillow. He looks like a human sleeping when he does this, so I let it go, because I'm a marshmallow.
He will then continue to scoot over more and more as the hours go by until he is in the middle of the bed, I am on Tom's side of the bed, and Tom is finally pissed off enough to take him for a walk. Then I have the bed to myself, but I'm usually already wide awake from Tom's endless guilt trips...("Bonsai, I wonder why Mommy won't take you on a walk???It's okay BooBoo, I'll take you, Daddy loves you, etc., etc.") He thinks that it bothers me, but it doesn't. Sucker.
So I decided to go on a quick run this morning, just five miles. But after five miles I still had so much energy and felt so good that I went about five more.
My ankle doesn't hurt but is still mysteriously swollen after runs.
I've convinced myself that for no particular reason, my body has decided to retain water there, like a camel hump. My genius body has adapted to my running habits with grace and efficiency. Now before long runs, I drink an abundance of Gatorade, watch my ankle fill up, and hit the pavement. Perfectly natural, perfectly healthy, no risk of long term injury.
When I got back from my run I was famished and decided that I was going to get a giant strawberry smoothie. I did this, and it was delicious.
I also picked up 4 of my paintings from the UNscene show at the Box Gallery in Costa Mesa. The exhibition was over, but a few days ago a woman contacted me and requested that I show my work at a gallery across the street. So, I'm pretty stoked about that.
When I came home I drew the newest of my paintings onto a piece of wood, but not with a sharpie. Instead I used this stupid marker that simply smeared off when I applied gesso. I had to let the nasty blue smeary mess dry and then I reapplied the drawing with a soft pencil. UNfortunately, I can't used a hard pencil because it leaves grooves in the wood. The problem with the soft pencil is that it will probably make everything gray and smeary. Which is why if I didn't live with a hypochondriac, I would probably invest in massive amount of polyurethane spray paint. Now that stuff can do some permanent damage.
I made a delicious dinner of chicken, green bell peppers, and red onions marinated in a garlic honey sauce and some broccoli sauteed in butter I was in the kitchen while my roommate cooked his dinner, which was essentially the entire left side of a cow. I was horrified. I reminded me of that Francis Bacon painting of the racks of meat behind the screaming pope.
Then, I watched Bridget Jones Diary and NOW, dear friends, I'm going to sleep. Maybe I'll show you part of my painting tomorrow if it doesn't suck.
annoying habit of always waking up 2 hours before me, sitting next to my bed and licking my face until I roll over to the middle of the bed, where I bury my face under pillows and blankets to escape his slobber. This is part of his strategy. He's a smart dog. As soon as I roll over, he jumps on the bed next to me and spazzes out for about sixty seconds. "Spazzing out" is my description of how he lays on his side, makes himself as long as possible, and then kicks out his legs 7 or 8 times, snorting like an angry bull the entire time. I don't know why he does this, if he has control over it or if he is even aware that he does it. All I know is that every morning, it's the same. Then, he rolls onto his back and put all four paws in the air with his neck stretched back and his head resting gingerly on what was my pillow. He looks like a human sleeping when he does this, so I let it go, because I'm a marshmallow. He will then continue to scoot over more and more as the hours go by until he is in the middle of the bed, I am on Tom's side of the bed, and Tom is finally pissed off enough to take him for a walk. Then I have the bed to myself, but I'm usually already wide awake from Tom's endless guilt trips...("Bonsai, I wonder why Mommy won't take you on a walk???It's okay BooBoo, I'll take you, Daddy loves you, etc., etc.") He thinks that it bothers me, but it doesn't. Sucker.
So I decided to go on a quick run this morning, just five miles. But after five miles I still had so much energy and felt so good that I went about five more.
My ankle doesn't hurt but is still mysteriously swollen after runs.
I've convinced myself that for no particular reason, my body has decided to retain water there, like a camel hump. My genius body has adapted to my running habits with grace and efficiency. Now before long runs, I drink an abundance of Gatorade, watch my ankle fill up, and hit the pavement. Perfectly natural, perfectly healthy, no risk of long term injury. When I got back from my run I was famished and decided that I was going to get a giant strawberry smoothie. I did this, and it was delicious.
I also picked up 4 of my paintings from the UNscene show at the Box Gallery in Costa Mesa. The exhibition was over, but a few days ago a woman contacted me and requested that I show my work at a gallery across the street. So, I'm pretty stoked about that.
When I came home I drew the newest of my paintings onto a piece of wood, but not with a sharpie. Instead I used this stupid marker that simply smeared off when I applied gesso. I had to let the nasty blue smeary mess dry and then I reapplied the drawing with a soft pencil. UNfortunately, I can't used a hard pencil because it leaves grooves in the wood. The problem with the soft pencil is that it will probably make everything gray and smeary. Which is why if I didn't live with a hypochondriac, I would probably invest in massive amount of polyurethane spray paint. Now that stuff can do some permanent damage.
I made a delicious dinner of chicken, green bell peppers, and red onions marinated in a garlic honey sauce and some broccoli sauteed in butter I was in the kitchen while my roommate cooked his dinner, which was essentially the entire left side of a cow. I was horrified. I reminded me of that Francis Bacon painting of the racks of meat behind the screaming pope.
Then, I watched Bridget Jones Diary and NOW, dear friends, I'm going to sleep. Maybe I'll show you part of my painting tomorrow if it doesn't suck.
