The Chronovore is obviously back.

Time is skipping around like a sugared-up two-year old on a Piccasoesque hopscotch course. I swear, it was just nine-thirty-ish, it has no right to be eleven-and-some-change. I have too much to do today. Time is forbidden to progress at this unseemly rate. I haven’t even been in the studio ONCE this morning, which would account for time being sucked away. The studio is the Chronovore’s den. I paint a bit, clean my brushes, dump out my paint water, and just as I’m starting to walk away, an evil voice says “Hey, a little raw umber would really pick those shadows out,” and then suddenly it’s half-past midnight, I’m beat, and the Chronovore’s had to let its belt out and is picking its teeth for stray nanoseconds. But that isn’t happening now, so there is NO excuse, damnit.

It might be that it’s pouring rain today, so the outside has that heavy grey early-morning look, no matter what time it really is. Throws my internal clock off something fierce.

I have some ideas, but I gotta be strong and get this work out of the way first.

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