the artist's boxs

chapter 7

Yes I know, the black and white is a strange and unusual format for us. And I also know that a) it's not winter in the comic, and b) it's not winter NOW either (at lesat not for us). We're going with the temporal vortex theory...just pretend.

I just spent more hours than my brain is comfortable with sorting photos (no less than 20 years' worth) and sticking 'em in books. Been meaning to forever, and there's no a huge chunk of space in my closet that wasn't there before... but DAMN do I never want to do that again.

Still actually need to finish the task, bitter ironies, as I pooped out before I got to the pictures from my freshman year of undergrad. Thank the almighty for my switch to a digital camera... I have just as much photo clutter for the years since then, but they feel a little less intimidating somehow, being all stored in folders on my harddrive.

Gah, I sleep now. Stupid 6am flights. Though this last one was surreally and improbably cool... I met a woman who starts working in my now-former university's library this summer and managed to NOT completely scare her off from the school (I hope... my current opinions of the administration being what they are, it was actually quite the feat).

Oh right, sleep!