Well, it's been a busy day and I still have alien genitalia to draw. I have four and a half pages left to pencil, eleven to ink, and all twenty four to colour on my web comic by Saturday. How do I always get so behind? Mainly it's the inking. I hate inking so much. Maybe I would be a better inker if I didn't hate it. Well, I know plenty of very talented people who often talk about how they hate doing what they're talented at.
While eating breakfast this morning, I read "A BIRTH IN THE WOOD OF SELF MURDERERS", a truly lovely story from the new Sirenia Digest. Just about every resonance and more you could imagine being sussed out from a woman having sex with a flower is ingeniously rendered. Really sexy, wonderfully weird, and brilliantly familiar.
After this, I went to the dentist to get a gold crown for a molar and a filling for each canine. Let's hope my teeth behave themselves for a while. From there, I went to my mother's where I'd had delivered a new frock coat and waistcoat for my aunt's funeral I'm going to on Sunday--My Aunt Edie who passed away last week at whose home most of my whole large extended family used to go every Christmas. I remember going to her home for Christmases as far back as I can remember. I've always loved her furniture; lots of red on Victorian and early twentieth century couches and chairs set against while walls and carpet rather reminding me of the space station in 2001: A Space Odyssey or maybe Ingmar Bergman's Cries and Whispers.
And from my mother's I went to Mitsuwa where I bought an enormous daikon and a steel bento box that I hope finally solves my problem about taking lunch to school.