I was feeling artsy today. I haven't felt artsy in a very long time, but today I wanted to be creative. I tried sketching but all I came up with was half-faces of women and naked torsos of men.

Nothing creative about that.

Then I remembered about this paint I bought in Maryland when I was comissioned to design a sign on goat skin [NEVER PAINT ON LEATHER!], for my psychic friend Zenobia. No I am not making this up.

Anyway, I bought some wood to paint on and went to retrieve these wonderful paints and prepared to be artsy. But when I dug up the bag of paint, I saw that the blue had spilled onto the other cans of paint, my brushes, my brush cleaner, and a few other art supplies.
I tried cleaning my brushes, but all but the mid-sized one is ruined. That blue paint acted like a superglue, so I couldn't get the paints apart from each other, let alone OPEN. But in the struggle to achieve this, I somehow sliced up the index finger and thumb on my right hand. SLICED, as in, "Ouch, I just crumpled up this can of coke in my hand and now my flesh is shredded and bleeding profusely."

OK, I'm exaggerating a bit, but it hurt! And now I don't want to be artsy any more.

boo hoo.