and so, we have liz. she is sitting amidst a menagerie of cleanly blank sheets of paper that were meant to be filled and checked and rechecked and edited and pressed and folded and sent off before the dawn of time. or at the very latest, by this afternoon. this, however, has not quite given her the centeredness of mind that she feels is necessary in order to complete this elephantine task.

why is this, you might ask?

it's because there's jazz playing in the background. how can someone be squished under financial obligation when the room is exploding with trumpets and bela fleck and "darlin" being thrown around like a warm blanket?

hushed elation. cautious jubilee.

paint is a little bit like a fib. the better-known efforts of van gogh parade along my wall in a series of twelve. like the months. or the steps in a program to rid myself of an unaesthetic sense. there is a portrait of a lady in hues of green and vomit. it's perhaps the ugliest thing i've seen yet. but that in no way doesn't mean it's not famous. ha. i dare you to count the double negatives. (there are three.)

fare well, soldier.