My buddy Carlota brought me wombat earrings from Australia. Glee!
I’ve decided it isn’t Friday. Some rogue chronovore ate a few of my days. There’s no other explanation. I understand that some people are grateful for it being Friday, and proving that I’m not completely unreasonable, I am willing to compromise and allow it to be Wednesday. Friday, however, is completely unacceptable.
The squirmy baby birds are still squirmy, but the darkness of the nest does not permit me to get photos at this time, (or even count them accurately) and I don’t wanna use the flash and scare the bejeezus out’ve ’em. I’m waiting for a really bright day, and I’ll use the tripod and see what I can do.
I finally got a good composition–I hope–for the lemonlopes. It turned out I was wrong all along–they weren’t pronghorns, they were oryx. That must have been why I couldn’t get ’em to settle. We’ll see how it goes, though–composition, as those blasted Radishes of Paradise taught me, is not the only hurdle.
The night sounds here are out of control. Seriously, out of control. Thousands of bugs. Hundreds of frogs. Other things that I don’t know what they are–bugs, birds, frogs, no clue–and so have concluded that they are obviously the rare North American Lesser Bunyip, which appear to have a breeding ground behind the house. Unbelievably loud. I spent an hour the other night convinced that the other resident of the duplex was having wild sex of some variety, only to realize that the thing sounding exactly like creaky bedsprings was some variety of native fauna. More than anything else, it’s like one of those New Age relaxation tapes–“The Soothing Symphony of Nature’s Nightsong” or something–turned up to deafening volume. My opinion on this varies between “That’s kinda cool. Go, nature!” and “Jesus H. Christ, I need better soundproofing.”
There are two physical paintings I want to do, and an uncountable number of digital pieces that I really, really should be working on. I am back to scuttling between studio and computer, alternating pixels and paint. And yet, I am confident I’ll get it all done. Not due to good scheduling, not due to any great skill, but simply because I always get it all done. Predictability isn’t nearly as good as ability, but sometimes it comes in handy.
And that’s the state of the Ursula today.