Didn’t do much today. Took the cats for a ride–the vet suggests that we take a few short car trips to acclimate them to being in a car, and so that they learn that car rides don’t always end up at the dreaded Vet. They were surprisingly mellow. Loki has a “Mmaaaaraaaaaaooooowowwwwgghghghh!” that could wake a fossil, but since we got him a larger carrier, he only saw fit to serenade us a few times, instead of his usual constant fire-engine wail. This is a good thing. I don’t know if I could handle a four day car trip with that going on in the background. It would be a race against time to see whether he’d go hoarse before I went barmy and drove the car into something large and unyielding.
Hit a flea market. Biiiig flea market. They held it at the fairgrounds, and I saw maybe a third of it before my feet froze in my sandals. Why was I wearing sandals in thirty-some degree weather, you ask? Well, I thought I was just doing a five minute jaunt to Michaels and then I saw a flea market sign and…y’know. Got two cool little wooden boxes, one of which is the perfect size for my standard acrylic paints (which is a good thing, because it gets annoying if you keep ’em all in one large box and the ones you NEVER USE migrate the top. It’s like Quinacradone Violet secret hates Burnt Umber and is always trying to keep it down. Or Iridescent Gold. I mean, I bought a tube of Iridescent Gold for one friggin’ painting four years ago, and nevertheless, as soon as I shut the box, it turns up on top and I have to fling tubes around like a deranged burrower (possibly even a wombat) to turn up the Payne’s Gray. There may be some kind of highly specific art-law of the universe in there somewhere–sort’ve like toast landing butter side down–but I dunno what it is.