Got up. Had coffee. Read that Paizo Publishing is taking submissions. Spent ten minutes picking four best paintings of all time (hard) that don’t involve boobs or naked animals (suprisingly less hard.) Sent submission to Paizo Publishing. Fret. Have more coffee. Shoot cat with insulin. Learn that the publisher James’s company is pimping their current project to just signed one exactly like it. Fret. Sent jpgs to Mongoose. Attempt to fret, fail. Have more coffee. Listen to Prairie Home Companion. Have more coffee. Wonder if That One Place will get back to me any time soon, or if I’ll be left doing their cover painting in a hideous frenzy of digital paint and sleeplessness at the end of the month. Attempt to fret, mild success. Soothed by Garrison Keiler singing about biscuits. Make plans to isolate cat with special litter box to get urine sample. Have more coffee. Contemplate sketches for character commission. Have more coffee.

I love my life and wouldn’t trade it for anybody’s, but nevertheless, had you told me back in the day that my mornings would consist of alternating juggling art and wrangling a recalcitrant (I love that word) twenty pound feline, I’d…I dunno. The problem with being self-employed, of course, is that you’re always at work, and if a weekend isn’t at least half work, I feel guilty.

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