Pleading

And at long fucking last, the moving process is finished (except for, of course, unpacking), leaving with with one teensy little thing to worry about-- how the *fuck* I'm going to pay my bills.

I am too tired physically, emotionally, or mentally right now to contemplate this too hard tonight. Tommorrow, I'll probably be freaking out again. *sigh* Lessons learned, and all that. I *should* have picked up an extra job at the Dial, even if it would have meant a hateful summer.

I am left with one other option-- anyone want quick commissions, 10-20 dollars drawings, promised next week? The one thing NOT hideously drained is my creativity. Until I get my space set up, I can't do big pretty things (or finish them like yours, gollumgollum, but pencil drawings?

Oh! One last note on that front-- d_c_m, I have your second BEE picture almost done! I just need to get my comp somewhere where I can get the last reference I need.

Alright . . . I've got to get some sleep. Or food. Or both.

Or a nice, cool rock to crawl under.

(no subject)

Things are made much better with sleep, if still nauseatingly stressful. Found out yesterday that my financial aid has been chosen for an audit, which *so* did not help with the freaking out in general. Thank you to everyone who responded to the last pleading . . . I am so unbelievably grateful.

So today, I am trying to do nothing but destress, draw, and write, since otherwise I will be in no state to do anything at all. Tommorrow, thursday, and beyond I unpack. I've found all of the furniture I need for my new place except for a new dresser, since my old was is a peice of crap. I'm getting a full-size bed with a gorgeous antique metal frame that sit, like, three or four feet off the floor, which is awesome (I love sleeping elevated). I have a new pale yellow velvety loveseat, a few throw rugs, a new TV for my room, and then the furniture my dad is building for me-- a bar to act as extra counter/table space and a bench/shelf.

I took in a new cat until the 15th to save her from the shelter, and she has been . . . well, she hasn't peed anywhere, and that's good. She now lets me get within five feet of her without screeching, which is good. Any closer and she howls like dogs are tearing her apart, but . . . the weird thing is she doesn't mind Anya at all, just me. I can't figure out why, I'm usually very good with animals in general and cats in particular, or at least passable. I guess she's just upset by the move.

Anya is doing all right. She's very freaked out, and hides under the couch a lot.

And I've had a phantom scent stuck in my nose for several days, which makes me paranoid that I myself smell, which is ridiculous because I have showered so much this week that I think I'm sterile. I can't tell if it's a whiff of something I caught while moving, or a product of the stress, but I'm smelling overripe/rotten oranges and it's *weird*. My nose is so bizzare.

I guess that's all.

Obla di, obla da, life goes on . . .