In which I upbraid myself

I was supposed to clean the house today, but my sleep disorder got in the way.  I told you I have delayed phase sleep disorder, but that’s only on a good day; on a bad one, I have this.

The morning started off well enough, but I crashed around 9 am and could not leave the bed, though I did not sleep for a couple more hours or so.  My eyes were open, but my brain refused to process any information.  Finally I went to sleep and woke up just now feeling relatively okay, but it’s 6:37 PM.

I’ve had this disorder all my life.  Though I know intellectually that it’s not my fault, I still get angry at myself for not being able to stay awake and get things done like a normal person.  I live by myself, so if I don’t do things, they don’t get done.  This place needs to be cleaned, and I have about 3 hours to do something useful before my landlady who lives downstairs goes to bed.  (After she does, I can’t move around too much because the floors are squeaky.)

In which I make a wildly ambitious plan

All right, world.  Here’s my plan for tomorrow.  I’m telling you all about it, so that the fear of public shame will spur me on to actually get it done.

1. Wake up sometime during daylight hours

(sad that I have to list this, but true: I have something called delayed-phase sleep syndrome)

Update:  Done!  I am awake at 1:48 PM!

2. Clean those damn brushes!

I have to do this outside, because of killing solvent fumes, but I have put it off because it’s too damn cold.

Update: Done!  I even cleaned my glass palette!  And I took pictures.  You’ll see them in the next post.

3.  Clean the rest of my apartment.

I am organizationally challenged. I can still see the floor, but my place looks bad.  Not health – hazard bad, but seriously sloppy bad.

Update:  There is so much cleaning to do, I probably won’t get this done until tomorrow.

If I succeed, I’ll post some photos.

Gratuitous Penguin of the Day

Penguin Walk, photo by Brendan Van Son

If you’re just waking up and need something adorable to lift your spirits while you drink your coffee, try this photo essay about Antarctic penguins by my affable Canadian twitter pal Brendan Van Son.

Electrocharge Your Life. Also, Top Ten Blogger Lies.

I stumbled on this article about the top ten lies bloggers tell and at the top of it is this cartoon which captivated me.

Hugh McLeod has a website called Gaping Void which presumably has more art like this on it, but I’m afraid to go look, for fear I might see too many of his cartoons and fall in love,  and that would be disastrous, because he’s continents away from me and I haven’t built my steampunk dirigible yet.  Dammit.

Oh, and I never tell lies on my blog.

In which I am shunned

Yoko's Revenge

 

It’s begun.

My anti-Yoko beliefs have enraged the world.

I am  cast out of the ranks of respectable humanity.  Not by a flood of hate mails, but by stony silence.  That’s right.  I’m being shunned.

I might as well wear a scarlet Y.

For the record, I don’t hate Yoko.  I just hate SPAM.

From my notes: A painting is a magic hat

Beyond the Veil, my artwork, 2011

A painting is a magic hat.

I may put a rabbit in the hat, but someone might pull out a peacock or a platypus.

What other people get out of it isn’t always the same as what I put in.

That’s part of the magic.

From my notes: Genius

Today I accused someone of being a genius.  He modestly denied it.  He is wrong.  But I get why he doesn’t like the idea.

If somebody said that to me after looking at a couple of my paintings,  sure, my ego would be gratified. But secretly I’d be wondering what was wrong with them.  I’d think they were over-idealizing me.  And I’d feel the impulse to even the balance by telling them just how made of clay my feet are.

The responsibilities for being a genius are crushing.  You’d have to walk around geniusing all the time, and you could never slip up, or people would think you never really were one at all.  Who needs that kind of pressure?

From my notes: Delusion

Found this scribbled on a notepaper on my desk:

“Of course people are delusional.  I’m surprised they’re not even more delusional than they are.  Delusion is the only thing that makes reality tolerable.”