It' the end of a long monday. I don't like mondays. Monday is the root of all evil. And I'm so freekin stuffed and exhausted...

Some poeple may have noticed I bitch a lot. Like, a hell of a lot. Well, now I'm going to botch at my subcontious and my freekin heart. I'm prone to some sort of anxiety attack. My heart starts beating stronger, although not really faster, and my shoulders begin to ache. If I stand, my whole chest aches and I feel exhausted, like I've just run the 1500 meters. I need lo lean against something and sit down quetly. Then I'm tired for the rest of the day. Yes, it sucks ass. But what's worse is that it's not an actual real problem! It's something my brain contrived- some sick, twisted idea it had and decided to inflict upon the rest of my body. It doesn't actually exist. So why the hell does my body feel it necesarry to over-react to somehing tha doesn't affect it? Am I a closet masochist?

Enough bitching about my so-called 'thing', there are more important things in the world. I had a book I'm working from temporary comondeered because it contained a picture of a genital piercing involving a man and a bone. It was shown to the guys, just to see if they'd cringe. Wonderful, no?

I have been thinking of doing a large furre picture. Possibly of one of my characters, if I can pick one. Alright, Melanthe... But I can pretend to think about it. I may even do a Washi puppy or a Were-washi or a Jabari or something. Just something large. I have these huge sheets of white paper under my bed doing nothing. It may even be worthy of an exchange of money, you never know.

Enough.

"A dream itself is but a shadow"
~Hamlet, Hamlet. The last thing I read of it today.
- posted by Washi @ 3:05 pm