- Woke up at 6:30 AM, couldn't get back to sleep.

- Had to go to Metairie.

- Was served the petition of foreclosure I'd known was coming. I have until March 21 to get myself, my animals, and my stuff out of my house. Where they are all going, I'm not sure yet.

- Got yelled at by my mom for spending too much time with Chris because, according to her, I'm going to get myself into "a mess." No, she does not believe that former couples can ever be friends. No, it does not matter to her that I am 45.

- Spilled the bong in my lap.

- Had a Lee's Hamburger that was not even half as good as I remember Lee's Hamburgers being.

- Got a spider bite.

- Broke the home blood pressure monitor.

Did Mercury go back into retrograde when I wasn't looking or something?

1. WITHOUT STEPHEN KING I WOULD BE DEAD SO SUCK MY DICK.

2. I don't CARE about all these movies.

3. When you're young, you should be as bad as you want/need to, because your parents WILL get revenge eventually.

4. I hope it DOES end tomorrow.

In a very low phase. I feel like a failure in life, always hurting, frequently depressed, pulled in a hundred directions and letting down everyone I care about. I'm going to lose my house to foreclosure -- I accepted that months ago and am more or less at peace with it -- but now I can't even come up with the rent for the apartment we've been living in. I bust my ass and bust my ass and BUST my ass, and there's still never enough. Phone is turned off, can't do laundry, can't buy art supplies, couldn't afford enough gas to get to the art store anyway. Electricity will be shut off soon. And almost everyone I know is in the same sinking boat. What's it all good for? Why do we bother?

1. Spray-paint your canvas flat black.

2. Paint a creepy red ghost face on it.

3. Google "Transsexuals are ... " and see all the awful results that come up.

4. Write them around the creepy face in different scripts.

5. Stare at the thing for a while. Get increasingly pissed off.

6. Decide you are a joke as a painter. Wonder how you're going to pay the rent. Panic.

7. Hyperventilate.

8. Start painting over the creepy face and words. When you've covered about half of it, stop and think, "Ooo, it looks kinda cool that way."

9. Decide you don't really want to look at those words for even one more second.

10. Spray-paint your canvas flat black.

(Repeat as needed)

On "Pocket Hurricane Relief": "That one up there that looks like a bunch of smears, that's kind of stupid."

On "Buried Alive": "And that one, that's not good. It looks like a three-year-old did it."

On a new one I haven't posted yet: "Not very attractive. I certainly wouldn't want it in my house."

"Cersei Lannister Escapes The Zombies on Her Oxymoronic Steed," acrylic on canvas, 16" x 20", $125 (or make an offer)

I just paint what the voices tell me to.

[SOLD! If interested in commissioning a piece, please contact me at funkyegret (at) yahoo (dot) com.]

"Got My Shoes," acrylic on canvas, 16" x 20", $100 (or make an offer)

I never did care much for Dorothy.

[SOLD! Please contact me at funkyegret (at) yahoo (dot) com re: commissions.]

Today I spent at least five minutes pondering how Chris on Family Guy could have blonde hair, a recessive trait, when his mother is a redhead and his father a brunette. Later, I Google-imaged seppuku while having a stomachache. And this has been my favorite thing of the day:



I pretty much fail at life today, but I'm cheerful.

Napping over at Grey's just now, I dreamed of a monster named Mr. Bolay. He had very long, thin arms, and above all else he loved ham and cars. You were usually OK with just one or the other, but if you tried to eat a ham sandwich in a car, even a fast-moving one, Mr. Bolay would run alongside and snake his arm in through the tiniest window crack and steal your sandwich, and he just might steal you too.

This entire dream was drawn in the style of Lynda Barry.

Finally, a way for me to clean my house and make stuff to sell on eBay without spending a fortune on raw materials!

(No, not really. Probably.)