Fuck insomnia

Two hours of real sleep does not a wriggly blissfish  make.

two down, one point six hojillion to go...

Ah matboard, how do I hate thee?  Let me count the ways -
gashes on digits and glue on my elbows
rectangles that wobble and bevels that wiggle
mystery spots on my nice white picture plane
my inches and Crescent inches are not the same
oh fuckles I'm out of acid-free tape
paying the frame shop saves time yes indeed
but me pocket cannot support those lovely smoke fiends
matting could be done with so much more ease
if only St. Santa would bring one of these.

(no subject)

I miss bobbing for apples.