Well. I've felt all right enough to write a proposal.
A damn fucking fine proposal, ifIdosaysomyself. Seriously. 53-pages. WITH illustrations.
I am guardedly hopeful about this one.
So that's why all I've posted in the past couple days is a picture of a golfer publicly licking a phallus.
I've barely summoned the energy to write the damn thing as it was.
So, yeah. It's 12.30. I'm beat to shit. I hurt.
BUT I did want to poke my head up and say a leetle hi.
Tomorrow, more work. Whee.
I promise I will try to be more engaging soon. At the moment, again, between the huge motherfucking MOUNTAINS of work and the fucking lung, it's a bit of a stretch.
- onehanded