Well, this is my attempt at drawing and inking. I took a picture called the Merry Violinist that we saw in Spain.

Here:

Compared with my lineart I made of it. :( I'll get better...

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Let me introduce you to my art project. Their names are Moby Dick and Queequeg, called such because everyone thought they were whales. I don't think they look like whales, I never thought they looked like whales, but I guess they could be whales. The thing is that the whales look a lot crappier than the sparrows do. The sparrows look like they're going to vomit, albeit, but that's kinda what I was going for. Everyone still insists that they see whales. Here's a pick, let Nutang decide!

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Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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And the tale of my boring existence, woo7! What can be more fun that that? Well, I wanted to bring your attention to a shiny new comic called The Phoenix Requiem. In the vast gap that is left from Inverloch leaving my life *sniff* the author has kindly come out with a new comic to assauge my addiction *yeah* So have a look.

In other news, we started a writing club today! Hurray! We are meeting every Thursday, focusing on everything that a writing club can do: prompts, sharing, critique and general accountability. Wow, a lot to do, but I think we can handle it, at least they can... Strange, even after two years in writing club pushing hard to make everyone share, I still get a little nervous to share. Well, that's it for me!

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I had a very strange dream today. I was in a terrible mood and not being able to puzzle out a way to get rid of it, I decided to nap in the middle of the day. The dream was about my home and my family. I believe it was some kind of family reunion, because there was more than my immediate family there (though in my waking hours, I'm not sure I can tell you who all of them were supposed to represent) and we were all in the old house reminiscing about the old large capacity washer we had and such (which we never actually had). When I saw the large capacity washer I noticed that it was much larger than an ordinary washer. In fact, it looked a lot more like a MRI machine or a clean sewer pipe. At the moment though, I thought like is looked in many ways like a ship.

I sighed. "I love ships," I declared and then, I had someone tap me lightly on my back. I turned and a friendly old woman was standing there with a knowing look on her face an a cane that looked a lot like a rubber mallet. She nodded and pointed at the boat/washer, as though I had said something rather clever and nudged me or rather hit me in the shoulder with the cane. The pain was so great that I woke up. Back in the real world, I discovered that my arm was just fine.

Puzzled by the concept of ships, I went through a series of boring processes to finally come upon the idea of going to the library. So I went and found a copy of Moby Dick from the library.

I looked over the shelf, all the copies of Moby Dick lined up next to one another, strangely hard to sift through. Which of these are not abridged? Which of them are in ENGLISH! Finally I chanced upon a green copy. I read the first page and I was transfixed. I had, it seemed, found an answer.

"CALL me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me."

I scare rabbits and small birds instead of knocking off hats and though I am a woman and inescapably landlocked, I know exactly what he means. Thereby, I am vicariously adventuring again! I urge you all to wish for my safe return, for I fear I am in danger of staying here.

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I cannot turn up the heater

for I have no way of changing it

I cannot light a fire

because they think I will burn everything down.

Am I in Hell? I ask, but it is not cold in Hell.

No, I am in my dorm room

and it is cold, for it is Wyoming.

Flipping blasted cold weather! It is very cold up here and that's just because it's raining! Imagine what we'll have to do when the snow comes. I'll have to hole myself up in my room complete with mitten and hats and scarves! And they said it was unusually warm in these dorms. /sigh. Not one of my best poems... it barely counts, actually. I hope you like it, anyway.

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