Ye Gads (and a gross poem)
It seems I’ve run out of pre-scheduled posts. No, not out of stuff, just stuff I already had scheduled, so I need to find some time tonight and get some more set up.
I haven’t gotten much done this month, certainly not what I expected to. I’d hoped to have Ties of blood, the third book in the Amaranthine series, edited, formatted and ready to upload for the first proof copy, but that didn’t happen. I do have the front cover drawn and almost colored. I need to finish up his boots and I need to pick some scenery silhouette to go behind him (it’s the cemetery from book 2 you’ll see in the rough below). I need to spend some time strolling through my photos and find something.
I was also hoping to finally get all the photos from may edited and uploaded, but that hasn’t happened, either. I still have a folder of a ducky pond trip I’m half through and one of toadstools, and then I managed to take a few photos this month I still need to weed through (most notably some cool lightning ones).
And I was hoping that I’d have made a start on my executioner Collector Cards, but I’ve only gotten 8 0r 9 drawn and no one colored.
What I have done the last couple of weeks is be sick. I finally broke down and went to the ER and the bizarre lump on my leg turned out to be an abscess (the subsequent infection was what was making me so sick). They drained it and put me on antibiotics and I’m feeling a lot better. I guess I should have gone sooner, but it just didn’t seem ER worthy. To quote the movie UHF, “Supplies!”
I am going to be gone July 1st through the 9th or 10th. We’re going to see hubby’s grandma in Jefferson.
This has been a pretty boring post, so I’m going to add a special poem that I wrote just for my friend Jonathan:
Abscess, oh abscess, on my leg you were found a big solid chunk with a soft, squishy mound with you came fever, nausea, chills all of those things that mean high doctor bills When they stabbed you, you laughed, said “is that all you got?” Doctor poked you again and again ’til you popped A big ugly hole in your fat purple face, and a gross squirt of puss, it shot right ‘cross the place Then they squeezed you and squished you with no anesthetic and out came lots of goo, your brains yellow and septic they smelled like an arm pit, or an old running shoe You gross abscess, I can’t wait to be rid of you! Now, your brains are still oozing when I soak you in the bath bandaged and shrinking, you’ve gone down by half Of your death I am guilty, I am happy to say and I enjoy every minute of your demise, every day! ‘Til the day when you’re gone, only memories remain And if you ever come back, once again you’ll be slain