We’re up early or the dog is anyways, just sitting there, staring up, making these piercing little squeaking sounds at the end of the bed, and in a situation like that you either get up or shoot the dog and I don’t have a gun so I put on my shorts and sandals and hooked up the beast for her morning constitutional. By the time we get back L has hash browns in the oven and I began working up a plan of attack - a way in to this weekend, by god - which revolves around writing well, eating well, a haircut and making a mess with the art supplies we poached from Columbia Supply the day before. I have it in my head that all this representational stuff needs to take a back seat for a while - the life drawing classes just leave me squinting at where the perspective’s wrong, feeling self conscious and talentless and a little pissed for having wasted the money in the first place, so maybe the answer is just throw the color down and smear it around; push up against some borders; move the pieces forward with a new strategy in mind. And so after breakfast and a beer and a walk and that haircut I pop open another beer and set out with my little box of acrylics in search of some borders. I tear paper, smear pigment and take a wary step back. Nothing like I’d planned, but then that’s about how most Sundays go and I’m not sure why this one felt special. Anyways, nothing left to do except go see Fences with friends, grab L, gorge ourselves on big bowls of vegetables at the newest big-bowl vegetable place and fall happily, thankfully in to a big borderless sleep.