I'm late on the sketches for my next book. There's a septic smell coming in the house from outside. I am bruised from premature body checking drills with rookie girls who don't know not to use elbows. I've got a weird lopsided haircut. I am dubious about my career in public speaking. My studio is becoming more and more claustrophobic. I think my fish is dying. I'm running out of the only paper I ever paint on which has gone out of production. My blog has become increasingly sparse and unhumorous.
But, my iPod is not broken afterall. The backyard garden has come back despite neglect. There is sun today. Things are pretty good.