Working on a lot of small things today, which means that at the end of the day, I feel all unproductive, because even though I did work on a lot of stuff, I have nothing impressive to show for it. But eh, such is life. Working on my second beastiary card, working on Digger, working on a quick spot illo for T Campbell, occasionally wandering into the studio and making minor alterations to the latest incarnation of Horned Sculpey Thing, tapping out a few more thoughts on Eland when they come to me...just kind've a day made up of small stuff.
I haven't done a big full painting for a few weeks, and I'm starting to get...err...not really the itch to do one, but the guilt at not having done one, I guess. It's not at critical mass yet, but I suspect that by next week, it'll flatten me, and I'll have to take another swing.
This really isn't my week.
I'd recovered nicely from the dental thing, and it no longer hurt unless I poked it with my tongue (which I did approximately once a nanosecond, to see if it would still hurt, because c'mon, it's the law.) I'd gotten a little work done. I was anticipating getting some more work done.
And this morning, I was a little more stuffed up than usual. Not much. Not noticeably. Just a few more kleenex than usual. I was distracted, I paid no heed. Then I sneezed a bit in the car. Hmm. Perhaps I should take an Allegra.
I got home, got out of the car, and proceeded to whang my funny bone savagely on the car door. I said "Ow." I thought nothing more of it. I went in and took a pill.
Alas, it was too late. The reaction had started, critical mass had been achieved, and the little white pill was insufficient to halt matters. I was in the middle of a full blown allergy attack before I quite realized it, clutching my head and snorfling and the headache and the sinuses like savage, weighty golf balls pressing down on my aching teeth, and the curried eyeballs. Unnghghhh. An attack like this can take me out for a day or more, since I become unable to sleep, which does not bode well for my work schedule--I finished my bestiary card through sneezing, but I suspect I'll be working on Digger into the weekend.
"Can I get you anything?" asked James, as I lay on the couch whimpering.
"A merciful death."
"I'll get the hammer!"
"Just close your eyes and think of bunnies, and it'll all be over soon..."
I tried to prop myself up on a elbow and noticed a peculiar wangling pain. I staggered into the bathroom and discovered that my earlier car door misadventure had resulted in a neat inch-and-a-half bruise slowly darkening across my elbow. It hadn't hurt more than usual for a whack in the humerus, so I didn't expect any outward sign, but there it is. (Isn't that always the way, though? The agonizing ones don't bruise, even though you feel that much pain bloody well deserves it, and then you get something that looks like the Mark of Cain and you can't remember what the heck happened, maybe the desk gave you a sharp look or something?) Then I sneezed about five times in rapid succession and bit my own tongue.
Then the cat got a flat tire and I had to change it in the middle of traffic.
Okay, I made that last one up, but since I was whining anyway...