I feel like I’m in a marathon these days…get up, do comic. Take shower, do comic. Eat lunch, do comic. Pack up boxes, do comic. Dragonbreath is nearly done–six left! Only six! The end is near! I’m glad, insomuch as I am capable of any opinion about the matter beyond "What? Is it time to do another comic?"

I have never done anything but draw little dragons, I will never do anything but draw little dragons. When the universe dies the death of heat and there are only a few scattered decaying protons left in memory of my existence, those protons will be mechanically scribbling little dragons on the napkins of reality.

Actually, I ought to be done tomorrow, but I may have some kind of artistic PTSD afterwards. I’m starting to believe that the reason there’s such a long lead time on publishing books is so that when the readers bring a copy to the author to be signed, we don’t hiss and cower away from the book like vampires presented with a garlic-rubbed copy of the King James Bible. This would be bad.

Today, in between comics (i.e. at those moments when I can no longer stand to look at the comics and have to do something else–ANYTHING ELSE) I’m filling a box or two with the household essentials that I won’t need, but will not actually throw away just yet…stuff like sheets for a full-size mattress, bedside table lamps, kitchen knives. Y’know. The stuff that doesn’t really need duplicates kicking around, but which you aren’t going to trash just yet because…well…love is love, but it doesn’t hurt to hedge your bets a little.

Combining households is weird. I’ve never actually done it before–previously, when I moved in with my ex, neither of us owned anything, so it was really a non-issue. But it’s going well so far, we haven’t hit any real snags–Kevin graciously allowed me to dominate his living room with my enormous and ancient TV, on the principle that I cannot be expected to play video games on anything smaller, and the mask collection is starting to pop up at random points in his house. Bookcases will start popping up like mushrooms before long. (He’s been warned about this, but I’m not sure if he has quite internalized it yet.) I am like the Johnny Appleseed of bookcases. I can assemble a cheap bookcase faster than a pit crew can change out blown tires. I should probably get holsters made to hold my Allen wrenches.

Still. Before that can come about, I must finish my servitude to The Dragon. Back to the artistic salt mines…

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