Magnets done. Prints almost done. Running off the panoramics, now–I’ll have the lesbian angels, the bluejay frog, the grey fox geisha and maybe one of the weird little monster with the giant tree. Almost done. Originals matted, about to mail. Ulcer, almost done.
Probably because I’ve been watching old Star Trek lately on the Sci-Fi channel, I cannot help but cast my pre-Convention freaking in those terms.
Spleeny: Stress levels critical! She cannae’ take anymore, captain!
Capt. Brain: Hold it together down there, Mr. Spleen!
Spleeny: But, captain! I cannae change th’ laws of physiology!
Capt. Brain: That’s an order, Spleeny!
Spleeny: (glumly) …aye, captain.
I can’t think about it this way for too long, however, or I get really bizarre and have visions of rubber-suited dinosaur aliens with tinfoil eyes chewing on my liver, and even for me that’s a trifle peculiar.
Also, new Digger.
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