this little light

You may have noticed that I've been a bit down lately, as in knocked down, at the hands of two twists I affectionately refer to as Greedy and Stupid. Greedy, of course, tends to come at you with sneak attacks and wild rushes, and score his licks in bunches. He's a pouncer, like Cato in the Pink Panther. He'll say, Oh, I just need a couple of minor changes on that brochure, and then he'll smash a vase over your head by telling you that you still need to add the entire French translation. Just squeeze it in. He's a thief, a burglar, a shakedown artist. It's Stupid who you need to worry about. He's got all sorts of ungodly shit done up in Excel or PowerPoint or fucking Word, so in his mind it's pretty much done, and he can't understand why it can't just be sent off to the printer's, once you've scanned it or waved your wand over it or whatever it is you graphic design guys do. He's a blunt instrument, an unstoppable force, like a bear with a chequebook or an online degree in project management.

Someday, of course, I'll have my revenge, but until my flamethrower arrives from the order I placed with that classified ad in the back of that mercenary magazine, I'll have to take my positives where I find them. One of which arrived this week, when my crazy (seriously) but wonderful friend Rowan sent me her half of an art exchange. Rowan lives -- in her head, in her heart -- in an alternative landscape ... an ancient place of whispering hills and magical forests, where doomed Indian princesses and discarded brides wander weeping from dead lovers and ruined towers.



She also has a twin ...

... and ... apparently ... some black cats she likes to dress up ... {sigh}.

p.s. Thank you for the wonderful parcel, Row!