I thought I was free. I had cleaned up my schedule to a few covers, mostly with long deadlines, and a coupla commissions. I had finished my Fans run. I was looking forward to a leisurely month of painting, the vacation to PA I'm taking this weekend, and finishing my walrus.
And then the e-mail came that said "Hey, can we get five interior illos in three weeks?"
And all that was heard of Ursula was a faint, sad, glooping noise, as mud and algae rushed into her lungs and she vanished into the dark waters of work.
Disclaimer: NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING, MIND YOU. I'm glad to have work. Delighted! I'm glad they liked my past work enough to request more! As a freelancer, I know that work must be treasured and cherished and clutched to one's heaving bosom and so forth.
But damnit, I'm never gonna finish my walrus at this rate...
Four eggs now--I'm not sure, but I think one might be new. Could be wrong, though. It's definitely a Carolina wren nest, because I went out to look at a flower, and one came bopping out of the nest and proceeded to cuss me roundly in Wren. So they're definitely still using the nest, and man, can they scream when they're irritated.
I'm so excited.
The brown-headed nuthatches have fledged, and there is a small, almost spherical one hopping up and down angrily and yelling--an almost mechanical, staticky sort of chatter, like a blast of off-white noise--on a stub of branch a few feet up from the deck, while the adult patiently flies between my sunflower seed feeder and the branch to shove seeds down its darling offspring's throat.
And I should be working, so that's it for now.