My head feels better today. It was touch and go when I woke this morning. It still hurt but I resisted the early-morning Advil. I have had luck with breakfasting and then riding the van to relieve my headaches. My work-morning Flintstone vitamin (especially the gummy variety) may also have a beneficial effect. Whatever it was, it worked. By the time I arrived at work and dug in to my delicious workload I was fully rested and headache free. It was almost a P.H.D. (it didn’t reach that level since a true P.H.D. starts when I first wake up).

My morning coffee surely didn’t hurt the process. And before you start crying that my headache was yummy caffeine withdrawal, let me point out that you’re wrong on so many levels that I can’t accurately define or explain. I’m slathering all over the keyboard as I type this at the thought that some of you may have this idea burning in your tiny brains. And, no, the levels that you’re wrong on have nothing to do with my addiction levels, as we will disregard the loose fact that I failed to partake of yummy caffeine on Sunday, when, if you remember, my head sprouted talons.

I didn’t manage any story or essay writing today. I’m still tired from this weekend. I only have nine days left in the ping-pong story, and it’s not looking very good. I’m going to pound something out there starting, umm, tomorrow. I might have to ask for an extension. I always hated those people in school: I would work my butt off to finish my papers on time, and those people would saunter up to the professor after class on the day the paper was due, and give a sob story and walk away with an extension. I know I’m not supposed to hate anybody, and that I shouldn’t judge because I don’t know if their sob story was true. For all I know their dog/cat/guinea pig may have died the previous night, and they spent the late evening hours when they would have been putting the finishing touching on their paper/late-term assignment/take-home test wallowing away in a makeshift funeral ceremony for their beloved pet. I just don’t know the truth, and it’s wrong of me to think badly of them. And yet I did. Maybe if I were there now, with those same people and their same sob story, I would think differently. Knowing David, as much as I talk about NEQID, I don’t think I’ve grown much, particularly when I begin talking about those people.

Today I posted my favorite doodle. I’ve been looking forward to this day since I first drew it last Thursday. The perspective, while perhaps not technically accurate, was very satisfying. I started with pencil lines to plan where the walls and window should appear. Everything came together after that. And when I was trying to figure out what to do with the floor space, the slipper struck me. Technically, since his tail/leg falls backward, the slipper should have faced the other direction. When I tried it that way, however, it didn’t look as good. I think they call this artistic license, or, in my case, Dav-tistic license (for obvious, I’m-not-an-artist reasons).