And it begins again. PART THREE.

Got half the day off from work and managed to be thrilled, despite my consternated wallet.
Went to the ref mit story outline and officially began pictures research for my third book(let). 3 hours sorting through 30 odd picture files, including such categories as London-Camden, flowers-poisonous, and implements-garden, Honestly, it's a Fascinating life, this.
I amassed 173 borrowables in the end, and the reference collection lady was very tolerant, duly stuffing them in five separate envelopes so that I could actually sign them all out. I left the library completely high on this IMMENSE Rush of excitement about it all.
100% Adrenaline.
And so, dear reader(s), it (re)Begins.

Other highlights of the day include a sighting of cookie monster mittens (on an adult), a copy of "the emperor's new clothes" in a (different adult's) bike basket, being fortuitously present for a TPL lecture by George (Yay!!!) Walker about the revered nature of the book, unexpected gustatory victory in my carelessly packed lunch, the discovery and purchase of sea monkeys for bk's birthday, misplacing my ring in this EXCEEDINGLY cold weather, biking across town, and then discovering said ring tucked into my trouser leg which I had rolled up in order to bike, and, last but not least, arriving home to stunningly red kitchen walls, freshly painted last night and then promptly forgotten about upon leaving the house this morning in a haze of pre-grant mailing anxiety.

Non-highlights include pre-grant mailing anxiety, followed quickly by LOSING MY NERVE in front of (IN FRONT OF) the mailbox in the mailing of said bloody application.
Yes, Mere moments away from letting it go, I brought the blasted thing back home with me.
GODDAMMIT.
Only tea and bikkies can save me now.
And a smack in the head should I not relent at least by Thursday, once I've addressed my newest round of anxieties over it.

steflenkbogsagain.

or that's what I thought I read in the browser window just now.

Anyhow. The office phone rang today, and after a short conversation, Coco hung up the phone looking quite distressed.
"What?" I asked. "WHAT?!?"
"I just picked up the phone to the oldest lady in the world at the other end. And do you know what she asked me?" said Coco.
"No, Coco, I don't." I said, which seemed the only correct answer, given the circumstance.
"She asked ..."
"What??? What did she ask?!?!"
She asked.....'do you have ladies underwear... in wool?' "The poor thing! She must be chilly today!"

Goodness. The poor old dear. Imagine the chafing.

In other "news", I spent much of my day trying to re-create this: þ, for a poem we are publishing in our next issue. An icelandic thorn, by name, it is a latin ligature pronounced "th", but is in fact just a P with an ascender, and really a very lovely symbol to boot. It led me through an astounding maze of olde english, mathematical symbols, and countless other typographical ephemera. Of course my computer wouldn't cooperate, and frustration reached fever pitch when I read that the thorn is sometimes used as an emoticon, (:-Þ) to represent a face with a tongue sticking out.
Of course, Here I am casting about with the academics and the typographers for old english ligatures while all the youngins are sticking their proverbial (thorny) tongues out at me. And believe me, the irony is not lost on me that creating a thorn on this blog took about .231 seconds, while creating a printable one in our house font took...much longer.

of eyelashes and bike couriers

I have just had a nearly fatal collision with another bike courier this morning.
Ok, actually we missed each other by a couple of feet but both burst out laughing since we both had the same bikes and were identically attired in 20 feet of sundry woolies and full body ear-muffs, looking not unlike pomeranians on (exceedingly stylish) wheels.
And as I trooped up the steps of the regal George Brown house to our little office, eyelashes (eyelashes!) defrosting, I thought, yes, indeed, I really really love winter. Love it.

On the naming of bicycles and tea with Woogie, (the wise and dreamy guardian of the lavender sheep) in the first colour of the rainbow

Out on a skating expedition last night, I was asked my bicycle's name. I abashedly admitted that I have yet to come up with one (the naming of a bicycle is a task not to be treated lightly, and I have yet to feel adequately up to the task.) When I returned the query to my questioner, his answer was "Mathilda Junkbottom" A Fantastic name, I thought admiringly, while my brain niggled...why does that sound so immensely familiar. Why why. Finally I asked, from whence came such a remarkable moniker. His reply: Doctor Snuggles.

DOCTOR SNUGGLES.

Well. I nearly lost (what little is left of) my mind.
Doctor Snuggles is only THESINGLEMOSTFANTASTICGREATESTKIDSSHOWEEEEEVVERERRRINVENTEDBYMANKINDONTHISPLANET.
(second only to the muppets of course).
I have not seen it since I was about 7 or something, but have just spent one Ridiculously Happy Sunday morning plumbing the depths of the internet for bits of Snuggles' nostalgia. *sigh* oh my Goodness. Doctor Snuggles.



Doctor Snuggles, a bespectacled inventor, complete with pinstripe trousers and duck-headed umbrella pogo stick, lives with Miss Nettles his stiff and formidable, but well-meaning housekeeper (stiff and formidable, indeed!), Dennis the badger and Nobby mouse, and of course Mathilda Junkbottom the robot built from junk to perform various useful and enigmatic roles. They spent each show (done in the 80s[?]) running around the forest and such, doing good deeds, flying to space in Snuggles' home-made rocket Dreamy Boom-Boom to have tea with WOOGIE (WOOGIE!!!!) the freckled camel,
(the wise and dreamy guardian of the lavender sheep) in the first colour of the rainbow, and doing their utmost to foil the dastardly deeds of one Professor Emerald, the malevolent power crazed magician and Doctor Snuggles’ archenemy. (descriptions courtesy of the Doctor Snuggles website)

Sigh. I include a few more characters for your (possible) edification, dear reader(s):

Madame Dumpitoo, Miss Nettles' pipe-smoking consort,
Winnie Vinegar Bottle, the witch who lives in salt and pepper mountains
Charlie Rat, Willie's fox's pea-brained serf

And an Abundant and Vociferous encouragement to visit youtube where a benevolent chaply sort named Sebastien has posted the episode of "the Remarkable Fidgety River", where big square blocks of the sea have gone missing and the river has retreated to a cave in mortal fear, until Snuggles comes to the rescue. Written by one Douglas Adams. DOUGLAS ADAMS!!!
Sweet Toenails of Tartarus. Could there be any greater thing to have graced our boob tubes, EVER???

all hail tiny gems.

Came upon this during the course of my editorial-y duties on Friday:

"He moved at a speed that allowed him to replace loss.”
MO

Truly Wonderful.

a long forgotten gift.

I, along with my good friend and excellent comic-book artist/partner in crime Willow Dawson will be teaching a book-making workshop affiliated with AGYU starting in two weeks time. In an attempt to gather some samples to show students, I asked my mum if she could lend me some of the sundry gifts I'd made her over the years, of a bookish nature. She brought some unexpected treasures, that I'd completely forgotten I'd made. These excerpts are from a scrapbook on the revered nature of journaling that I made her in 2000, complete with fragments of stories I wrote when I was 8 (including the infamous "The Adventures of Super Pickle" and "The Hair Grower"), as well as my very first report card at the age of 6. I was particularly enamored, in a navel-gazely kind of a way, with this latter document, which (of course) begins: "Stefanie is a very verbal child...."
(click on pages to see them in full detail)

Licensed at Last!

I have AT LAST, well, yesterday, received my official motorcycle M2 license in the mail, a mere days before I would have had to troop out and get another temporary one. I look, suitably I suppose, and not surprising at all, like a terribly overweight jail convict. Upon examining the contents of the envelope, I also found the following, which I sincerely hope they send to all new drivers, and not just those getting motorcycle licenses.

(Click on pic for detailed view of the Ministry of Transportation's benevolent campaign)

the UCCS; a most civilized event of a Saturday eve.

I haven't the witty wherewithal to post fully on this, for the moment, but I had the privilege of joining (via my pseudo-caricature Pippa Ellsworth Marigold, Esquirée) a Upper Canada Chap Society party celebrating the return of their founder, one Ozcar Wildeflower III, on Saturday night. Held at the Library bar at the Royal York Hotel, the revelry was over 23 personages strong, all of them decked out in full regalia, indulging in G &T's, Pimms, and, ahem...plenty of cucumbers.
Check out correspondence leading to the event as well as the event itself here. Alas, there are no photos of my costumed self, due to the fact that I was behind my camera, but I'm hoping fervently that some other members will post their own photos of the event in the near future. We shall see.
I will say though, that it is one of the first times in an AGE that I walked into a room full of strangers and was able to hold my own (COMFORTABLY) in a conversation, with nary a concern over my ignorance of the latest on television, newspaper or tabloid. Bliss and Glee!

yeah, swell.

So.
To any of my reader(s) who got spammed not once, but THREE times today, my Profuse apologies.
I still don't know how/what happened (trying to work it out right now) but, despite running test messages in all three instances, somehow the emails got sent out with only my subscribe/unsubscribe details in them. And though I am quite soliticious when it comes to whether or not people actually want to be on my list, I really don't need it reaffirmed three times, nor do I think people want to reaffirm it.

Anyhow.
My original intention, after a long arduous think about it, was to forward a message that got forwarded to me.
Yes, one of those. That we all already get too many of, that put me through ethical trauma everytime I get them, 'coz I really would rather use my list for what it was originally intended, namely, to let people know what I'm up to, that they might come say hi, buy a book, pat my shoulder if they feel so inclined. I don't know that I feel alright carpet bombing people (a great many of whom i barely know) with my politics.

But here it is below, then, Goddammit, if only to end the ruddy thing.

(And yes, I hereby guarantee that I will no longer forward messages of ANY sort to my mailing list. Senders be warned. I love you, I care about this stuff, but I'm officially traumatized about the whole forwarding messages fiasco.)

Please pass this around. It's a French initiative that is just arriving in North America: The 1st of February 2007. Participate in the biggest mobilization of Citizens Against Global Warming! The Alliance for the Planet [a group of environmental associations] is calling on all citizens to create 5 minutes of electrical rest for the planet. http://www.lalliance.fr

People all over the world should turn off their lights and electrical appliances on the first of February 2007, between 1:55 pm and 2:00 pm in New York, 18:55 for London, and 19:55 for Paris, Bruxelles, and Italy. 1:55pm in Ottawa, 10.:55am on the Pacific Coast of North America. This is not just about saving 5 minutes worth of electricity; this is about getting the attention of the media, politicians, and ourselves. Five minutes of electrical down time for the planet: this does not take long, and costs nothing, and will show all political leaders that global warming is an issue that needs to come first and foremost in political debate. Why February 1? This is the day when the new UN report on global climate change will come out in Paris. This event affects us all, involves us all, and provides an occasion to show how important an issue global warming is to us. If we all participate, this action can have real media and political weight. Please circulate this call to your utmost ability to your network.

note to self on a monday.

one of the many merits of working at a Coach House

Our toilet bowl? Frozen. Solid.
We all stood around it in mute horror (and silent mirth) on Friday.
Someone suggested that filling it in the usual manner would no doubt break the icey pond encased in porcelain, but no one wanted to test and be sure.
Finally a cup of boiling water did the trick.
But not before I wished fervently, SO fervently, that a camera had been present.

enthusiasm binges

It occured to me today that I may have a strange affliction: enthusiasm binges.
I have been indulging them lately, in a manic frenzy of over-activity. Book-making, letter-writing, scarf knitting, pot-plant planting, web-site building, manic-hard-drive organization.
I mean MANIC.
Rational thought will have NO ESCAPE from this evening's organizational tactics.
And though this may sound just peachy to some, I am really not quite sure. It's getting excessive.

I really need to get cable. Or perhaps the motivation to figure out how this television I was loaned actually gets even the basic channels, which I haven't quite had the patience to do yet.

Anyhow, I'm not sure what all this means, but I did feel the need to post a vague concern.

I suppose this productivity does keep me in tow over the winter months, and alleviates some work worries I've been having.
I googled enthusiasm binges, anyhow. Only got four hits: two blogs and two dead ends. So if it's an ailment, I'm the only one who has it. (sigh) Great. Oh, would that I were a normal human being!

my anatomical leanings and a horrid nightmare.

well.
This'll be a post with subheadings, i think.
It's just that kind of post.
And I love subheadings.

MY CLEVER LITTLE BRAIN.
I went to bed feeling immensely clever.
I taught myself to write html and build websites etc from scratch many years ago, so whenever I finish one I always have this memory of my very first web page. (It was hand-coded, so to speak, and took about 13 hours. I kid you not. It was a red screen with the word hello that linked to a green page that said well done!.)
(My roomie at the time, 073666, was most impressed, especially when I got him out of bed to show him at 2 in the morning.
"Oh." he said, if I remember correctly.)
Anyhow.

MY NEW WEBSITE.
For those of you unfamiliar with my new site, one of the splash pages has four mason jars on a shelf, which, when rolled over, reveal different parts of human anatomy floating in the formaldehyde which lead you to the pertinent pages (ie. eyes for paintings, heart for books, stomach for freelance work)

I know.

MY ANATOMICAL LEANINGS.
I love anatomy. It fascinates the hell out of me, I think the human body is the most beautiful and AMAZING machine that exists. I think about it every day, and it never fails to remind me of magic, and I am convinced that every single thing we do, have, or have created, can be found to be a mere and modest mimicry of something that already goes on inside us physiologically.
(shrug) It's my ideal metaphor.

OTHER PEOPLE.
When I first told Coco (aka. 231079, aka RSS, aka what on earth do you want to be known as on this blog?) about my new design, she was vaguely horrified.
I chuckled a bit, as I do, seeing as I am the FIRST one under my chair, hands paralysed, when the horror movie trailers grace the theatre screen. I can deal with them, but from beneath my chair is the place I do it best.
When concocting my little splash page drawings, it didn't even occur to me that my little mason jars have much the same effect on your (well, not really average), but definitely sane human being.

WELL.
I had a HORRIFIC nightmare last night.
Literally a "cold sweat and awaking in manic terror of the dark room" sort of dream. I don't have them often, and i hate them. HATE them. Probably because I spend so much time dissecting them for significance, I end up feeling like this is it, my time is up, etc etc.
I won't go into any details about it here, not only would it send you, dear reader(s) running, but would probably bring the little men in white coats clamouring forward to remove me from the internet for content violations.
But I will say in part of the dream I was decapitated.
(Don't worry, I sewed my head back on and even managed to smoke a cigarette.)
(And I don't even smoke.)
(Beetlejuice's got nothing on me.)

Now I comprehend, and now I worry.
I'm not really sure what to do, because what looks like four modest mason jars with anatomy in them is really a week and a half of toil and hairpulling.
So I suppose this is a disclaimer of sorts.

I guess for now, did I say go visit my website? Don't go visit my website.
(sigh)

i'm sorry Coco, there are no dancing ladies.

But it's DONE. and up. Not content to just add the few trifling things missing, I rebuilt my whole website in the last week.
Off my head. Utterly Potty.
But thrilled nonetheless.
It's quite the task, I was doing a link check to finish up and my hefty website program told me there are 1545 links in the bloody thing. How does it keep TRACK of everything?!?! I wonder.
Anyhow. Come visit.

a cyber respite.

it's true. I have been remiss.
But.
Not content to just "update my website" with new projects, (how GAUCHE), I am toiling away at a redesign, which is so on the cusp of being finished that I am salivating, if it is possible to do such a thing online.
Coco, I don't know if there will be dancing ladies, but I am striving, oh how I am striving.

I'm aiming for the end of the week to upload said site, and I pray you, be patient. You bloggy sorts will no doubt appreciate my new html efforts in this latest venture in websitedom. It is true, I have discovered....(cyber drum roll) SLICES. (sounds of accelerated heartbeat and heavy breathing) Goodness.

In the meanwhile.
Discovered this quite by accident whilst writing a (thumpa thumpa) letter this evening.
(No, like a Real letter. THEY STILL EXIST. IT'S TRUE. And I'm BACK OFF THE BANDWAGON, GLORY BE)
But yes.
I dropped my thesaurus, a formidable tome, and as I leaned down to pick it up, I saw that the honorable sorts in Oxford have provided us english speakers with three synonyms for "man on the Clapham Omnibus".
These are: (in order of importance) "hoi polloi", "people", and "plebeian"

How extraordinarily competent of them.

on the variegated nature of the prefix eune

231079 (aka Coco) and I were discussing the similiarities between the words eunoia and eunuch the other day. She of course, while i was no doubt lying prone and useless under something heavy, went forth and researched Eunoia, and came up with these facts, courtesy of Wikipedia.

Eunoia is the shortest English word containing all five main vowel graphemes. It comes from the Greek word (insert incomprehensible alphabet here) which means "well mind". It is a rarely used medical term referring to a state of normal mental health. In book eight of Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle uses the term (in Greek) to refer to the kind and benevolent feelings of goodwill a spouse has which form the basis for the ethical foundation of human life.[1]

hmm. kind and benevolent.

To which I shall now add a few sundry words about "eunuch".
A eunuch is a castrated man; the term usually refers to those castrated in order to perform a specific social function, as was common in many societies of the past...In some societies, the notion of eunuch has been expanded to include men who are impotent with women or are simply celibate.

The English word eunuch is from the Greek eune ("bed") and ekhein ("to keep"), effectively "bed keeper."


May I point out that eunuch is based on the Greek word "eune" which is bed. Although Wikipedia doesn't translate (strange greek word here), which Eunoia is based on, perhaps it is "bed"?
This would of course lend credence to my theory that a state of normal mental health involves being perpetually asleep.

Which of course, given that I am sitting here typing this and am not in my bed right now, is proof positive that I am Truly certifiable.

iFascists and a nostalgia for the humble mixed tape.

Because of these poxy limitations on iTunes purchased music, my mixed cd from 163478 (product of Saturday's hostage situation) is only four songs strong, with a bleeding 21 defunct due to the need to authorize authorize AUTHORIZE. Like iTunes were even the "authors" in the first place. Grrr.
And as 163478 so aptly put it, sharing is not just for personal use.

____

oh yeah, and I'm nostalgic for mixed tapes.

SNOW!!!!

snow snow snow SNOW (little musical notes of glee here) Snow SNOW snow snoW sNOW SNOW!!!! YEEEEEHHHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! Snow that covers the ground! Snow that is mushy and brown in the roads!!! Snow that makes people honk their horns malevolently!!! SNOOOOOWWWWW!!!

on the logic of karma.

Had a discussion the other day about karma, which I am beginning to hate the concept of. Karma has always seemed a rational process to me. Something happens and i think to myself, oh! that's because I did such and such before. Karma. And then everything makes sense and all seems right with the world.

The other day an alternative train of thought was pointed out to me. What if karma is NOT why said happening took place? What if my logic is completely wrong, and said happening was about as related to me as that box that fell over in the closet last week, while i was sitting all the way across the room?

The scary thing about believing in karma is that there is no one out there to argue with your logic. And if it makes "sense" to you, it's really hard to dispel.

But you could be Wrong.

Being wrong is a distinct (and not necessarily unpleasant) possibility.

Hostage situation.

It's Saturday, and what follows is the sort of trouble I get up to when I have no pressing deadlines.

My good friend 163478, prone to forgetfulness, left his ipod here when leaving my house yesterday after more Who watching. Seeing as my Ipod presently lies prone in a drawer (only 1 1/2 years old!), broken and unusable (ggrrrrr I hope you Apple fuckers are reading this) I have taken advantage of this to enjoy a day of gratuitous shuffle at 163478's expense.
And as my heinous crime (outlined below) will never make the papers, denying me my fifteen minutes of criminal fame, I post this email, sent to him, outlining my demands for its safe return.

Now. It occurs to me that what we have here, dear 163478, is a hostage situation.

You see, until I receive my ransom (one mixed cd of a memorable and 163478-standard quality), your ipod will remain in my possession. Your actions alone can determine its fate.
So.
Until such a time as you yield to my demands, I am holding your ipod here hostage.
But I am a benevolent captor, rest assured, and, seeing as I'm sitting next to it at my computer puttering away, I shall heretofore record, via email, what songs it sings to me in its shuffling state, to reassure you of its well-being.

So off we go.

...(listing of various songs of an admirable and highly entertaining quality, courtesy of 163478's ipod.)...

i have to go for brunch now. I'm leaving a bowl of water by this ipod and it's shackled to the speakers. The place is booby trapped and the walls have ears. Don't even TRY to come get it.
----

hmm.
i wonder if this is how divorcees deal with their assets. You know, like:
I'M PISSING ON YOUR COUCH RIGHT NOW YOU FUCKHEAD, GIVE ME BACK THOSE PILLOW SHAMMIES.

More tr(who)isms.

As beautiful as you and as deadly as the plague. If she was real I'd marry her.

Do you mind not standing on my chest, my hat's on fire.

Restrain her! We must cannibalize her for parts!

This is not wine but vinegar! Fetch good wine, dog!

I have better things to do than meddle in the piffling policies of your tiny planet!

We agreed to meet at midnight, but I had nothing better to do so I thought I'd come early. What's your reason?
Do I need one?
Well no, but it would have been fun to hear it.

RSS, an unstoppable force of wit.

Commenting on my tendency towards self deprecation, R coined it today thusly: Always pissing in the champagne. Honestly.

Galloping Authoritarian Equines!

A police horse just GALLOPED past my window. Just this moment.
GALLOPED, dear reader(s). What is going on in this city?!?!

random query about shrubbery

to a friend via email, today returned this link.
Of course.
And it's so true. I would feel Horrid, betrayed, and horticulturally destitute if months and years of my hard work (were) simply wiped out and destroyed with BAD INFORMATION(.)

and on the seventh day, she knitted.

Above you will see a model photo of the projected (width-wise) proportion of human to wool for my new woolly Scarf.

I started it last week, and Dr. Who can eat his heart out, 'coz not only will I be able to strangle dastardly villains and rescue people hanging from cliffs with this one, I will do it while the sheep look on in sheer (har har) astonishment.

1.5 feet down, 18.5 feet to go.

debt and daisies.

RSS and I decided over lunch today to compare debts.
We decided that she is, in fact, in worse debt than I am. Instead of feeling relief at this, (which would be odd), I felt the need to reset the scales somewhat. I pointed out that, being 6 years younger than me, she might well be in debt longer, but she will also last 6 years longer, still skipping valiantly through the daisies whilst I am pushing them up.

the One Night Stands, an official announcement.

OK.
So now. The show is up AND the books are done, but Rubbishy Christ. I bound them by hand, a task which left me with a mixed feeling of bliss (fun to do) and Utter Futility (About 5 hours of fiddling, for a meagre 13 books.)
That's 13 Very Lucky People, that's all I have to say. Or not, depending on how good my binding turned out in the end.

Printmakers of the world would be right to be appalled.
As would many, and not just at my bookbinding skills.

Anyhow. Go check out the drawings. They're in the art window 'til the end of the month. The drawings are for sale; I'm running out of room to store 'em all, so if you have rich friends, drag them with you. Point out how enticing said millionaires will seem to colleagues, exes,mortal enemies, if they hang a sleeping stranger above their mantel.

In the meanwhile, and since you've read this far, I'm using the cover image (above) as a Rorschacht to discover the true/inner nature of you, my dear reader(s). What do you see in the fabric on the cover?
I've had three answers so far; a sweater, intestines, a corpse (three guesses on who saw the corpse).

Today.

Should be OUTLAWED FROM THE ANNALS OF TIME.
Today should have been questioned before it began about the pending atrocities in store, and then cancelled due to lack of enthusiasm.
Today was SO Ass there are no words to describe it.
And so, dear reader(s), I won't even try.
You have been spared. And may my karma be watching (the good deed of my silence on the subject of today) from wherever it lurks, and may it take notes, gold stars at the ready.

the One Night Stands, a public hanging.

My One Night Stands are now publicly hanging in the art window at Pages bookstore in Toronto.
Well, six of 'em are. I'm pleased, though very ready for this project to be over. I'm not sure how my well-intentioned projects always end up being creepy, but there it is.
The original idea behind the project was a simple one. Find pictures of strangers sleeping, take one night with each of them (no more no less), make a drawing and then walk away from it. Never go back.

NO I DON'T KNOW ANY OF THEM, AND I HAVEN'T SLEPT WITH ANY OF THEM.
just for the record.

The idea seemed harmless, but as I finished off the book, with my little bits of text and definitions and such, the end product has turned out decidely more ominous.
Weird.

I'm a nice person, in actual fact. Really.

There is a book with the project, that was in fact the end product in question, but they, alas, are still in the finishing stages. In fact the cover drawing is sitting here in front of me right now, in fact. So I'm back to that. Binding 'em tomorrow, bringing 'em to Pages Wednesday. So if anyone feels inclined to pilgrimage to Pages, wait 'til Wednesday and you can see (and buy if you want!) the whole book.

This is silly, but both times I've had a Pages art window I've felt a little like I've won an Oscar or something, I walked by the window tonight and felt a ridiculous moment of pride that something of mine has a home there.
It's the Best Bookstore in Toronto. The Best. I don't care how cheesy and/or fawning it sounds.

(not even close to) the end of a Very busy sunday.

This pithy little reminder from U2(!) as i fatiguedly plod onwards, with piles of unbound paper and framed things everywhere.:
"You have to live in your dreams; don't make them so hard."