I had a really hard time keeping my eye on the ball yesterday. I think I was sick; my stomach felt kind of weird. I forced myself not to look at the internet and, after I got distracted by a Discovery Channel show on killer ants, I kept the television off. Though I did manage to draw earlier while listening to a replay of Senator Feingold's hearing for Bush's censure.
Gods, those idiot partisan Republicans. Feingold and his witnesses provided clear, unequivocal evidence of Bush's wrongdoing, and yet at the end of it, Arlen Specter acted like the whole thing was a farce.
I didn't finish pencil and ink until 4am, and then decided I'd use an hour before going to sleep to eat and read. At least I have the pleasure of knowing that I work harder than the president of our fine country.
So that means I have one page to draw and ink to-day, two to colour.
I'm still not sure what was wrong with me last night. I feel a little better, but I fear it may return. It wasn't just physical; it had me in a very useless state of mind. I found myself unable to want anything. The idea of finishing the drawing wasn't appealing; the idea of distracting myself with a movie, book, or internet wasn't appealing. I just wanted to sit still and stare blankly at the wall. Fortunately, the thought of how it would be if I got behind forced me to keep going.
I determined there wasn't enough good food around here, so I went to the grocery store at about 2:30am, and I tried to guess what my body wanted. I bought three apples and oatmeal. The apples were very good.