With a hurtin’ for a squirtin’.

I’m going to go ahead and wish an early Happy Birthday to What Pear of Truth. Her birthday isn’t until tomorrow, but I’ll be busy at my grandmother’s funeral and won’t be making a post in the morning. So sue me. Be sure to wish her a happy one tomorrow. And, if I recall correctly, she’ll be of legal drinking age. Be sure to have her pick you up some beers when she’s at the liquor store.

Yesterday was another day in paradise. I actually felt less shitty yesterday. Which isn’t saying much. I felt well enough to think that doing a few sprints as a bonus round at the end of workout was a good idea. It was a dumb idea. Sort of. I was able to do it, so there’s something.

I spent the majority of yesterday finishing the painting that J-Bird commissioned me to do. I finished it. However, I totally forgot to take a photo of it. I’ll take one this morning and put it on the Instagram. Keep an eye out on there.

I also got my key in yesterday. What key?! The key to my hi-speed quoin, of course. Now I can finally lock up my type on the press and start printing. And so it begins.

Maybe.

It might have to wait until I get back. I have to leave this afternoon for this wake business. They’re not calling it that, but that’s what it is. A wake. I think they call them “viewings” now. Whatever. I have to be in the room with a dead person. One that was totally bitchin’ as an alive person. It is going to suck. And this is why my doctor prescribed me drugs. If you need me, I’ll be taking photos of my relatives’s dumb faces.

And eating all of those pizzas you’ve ordered me. But that’ll be tomorrow. Order the pizzas around 11am on Thursday. And be sure to let me know, so that I can go pick them up.

I’d better get this over with.

See ya’ on the flipside.

More soon. ~SC