in fairness
being just and not


There is no news about or from Another Lady. Plenty of time in hand, of course. About the JB's interview, there has been a whisper along the long corridors of his institution that he might have got it. (Who knows though in that vortex of favouritism, nepotism, cronyism and backhanders. Things can turn on a dime.) Which would be both pleasing and a bit alarming. I am going to find some co-working space in the interest of marital harmony.

And now for a little first world whining. Hark the little tiny violins sing:

I screwed up my time management and had to do a marathon 12 hours work on Monday and another 6 on Tuesday, colouring a comic. This sounds like fun. It was a bit fun for the first 2 hours, and then not. The tiny precise movements of the wrist on the drawing tablet? After a while make you feel like jumping out of the window, I now know. And the fact that this was self-inflicted made it all the worse. Why did I lie around on Friday when I could so easily have been chipping away? WHY. 

I have cleaned and cooked, vacuumed, baked and polished. Am I experiencing some sort of belated spring-cleaning drive? No. It is tax season, you understand, a time that makes me feel like this:


Reverted to childhood - an adult Calvin - and sort of explosive. Arg.

Speaking of which, I cannot deny it any longer, it's time. See you after, all, have good weekends.





I can spend a couple hours of coloring. Then I'm done for...about 6 months. Of course, it's not my job, so perhaps you have more tolerance than I.

Good luck with the taxes - no fun!


I distinctly remember my freelancing days, when I'd stay up until dawn drinking coffee and tearing the house to bits looking for invoices and every time some celebrity would pop up on the telly chirping 'tax doesn't have to be taxing!' I'd have to be forcibly restrained.

*Crosses fingers for the JB*

I remember hanging out in a comic studio in my youth, thinking, ooh, cool peeps doing cool things... Hour after hour of intense silent intensity. Nobody spoke. Nobody came, nobody went. Faint scribbling noise for it was in the days before tablets. More silence. I went and got coffee. It was received in silence.


Oooh, ooh, oooh about the JB. My work from home spouse has a series of other places he likes to go to work, including one of the "pay a little to work in this office like place" places that exist here and maybe there too? He seems to find it essential to his sanity, and he's got a whole floor of the house to himself.

I don't know from coloring comics, but am certainly familiar with loads of versions of the tiny precise wrist movements make me want to set myself on fire phenomenon, so you have my sympathy. But I bet you filled in that time when you could have been coloring doing all sorts of excellent Twangy things.

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