Man, I have a great life. I mean, I have a fabulous husband who is willing to spend a fair chunk of his weekend helping me assemble something between a doll and a sculpture. I am at a point in my career where I can pick and choose assignments, and paint whatever I want, and I still make money--perhaps not fabulous money, mind you, maybe half what James makes, but not inconsequential money, either. I do a webcomic which has achieved mild acclaim and a print collection. I have a novel coming out. I am even reasonably healthy, except for some persistant bladder-related annoyances that I won't trouble the reader with, and I have health insurance. My latest painting is for a project I am deeply excited about and it's going well.
In short, I love my life. I don't really feel that I deserve it, but I'll bloody well enjoy it.
And this brings me, O readers, to the fact that very few of these things--James, and my health, pretty much--would exist without my wonderful, supportive, money-spending advice-giving pep-talk-uttering shameless-plugging obscure-fact-looking-up occasional-art-buying fanbase. Which is you guys!