My book partner told me today that the publisher is pushing our production schedule up by two weeks. Which means I need a clone. Or a time machine. I raced home from work and had to begin writing the text for the book. I had grandiose ideas of doing it all, but I only managed to get half done before this absolute exhaustion paired with fried brain from the third night of 90 plus degree temps in my apartment made me cry mercy. I have to do double time on the commission tomorrow because I need Saturday to varnish it and for it to dry. I HAVE to have the text all finished by Sunday. Period. I can't physically get the paintings done by then, so they will simply have to be a week late. Looks like I have a few more late nights ahead of me. But the one good thing is that the heat isn't so bad tonite, because I am just to tired to notice.

Tell me again how great the life of an artist is. Cause I seem to keep forgetting this week.