I have nothing insightful or even remotely interesting to say. Because anything that would fall under the latter category would require time, which I don't have. In the past two weeks, I have worked myself into an overtime tizzy. I think I have enough saved up for a week of vacation, which I'll just spend worrying about not being at work. God damn the corporate world. I TOLD you it wasn't good for me. But, Spring Festival is just around the corner. I plan on spending that week working out, eating well, drawing this good to God children's book, blogging up the wazoo, singing with my guitarist (and a possible harmonica player - more on the whole singing spiel later), and catching up - on sleep, on time, on friends, on life. But for now, here's some more blah to go with the blech.

Magazine deadlines come before birthing babies (if you need to birth one), showering, eating, sleeping, thinking (about your own life), walking, and breathing.

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