This morning finds me poopy. The mood, not the literal form. That’s disgusting. No, “poopy” as in “sulky.” “Poopy” is the appropriate adjective invoking connotations of  whinnying childish behavior. It’s particularly frustrating considering the weekend went as well as it did, was as long as it was, and productive. Begging the question, “What the eff?”

Poopiness and quotation mark heavy paragraphs aside, the week end did go well. That dog kennel is perfect. If I do it just right, I won’t need a canopy. It’s plenty tall, regulation booth width/depth, wind proof, sunshine shielding, and the list goes on. I knew it would do OK, I didn’t imagine it would preform nearly as well as it will. I am impressed.

I framed like a devil yesterday. Maybe a little too much. Mental fatigue lead to a sloppiness in the last three pictures framed. Tiny things that won’t take long to fix. It’s just a bother to have to fix them. Then again, the poopy factor might be aggravating the situation.

The show. I want it to happen, and it will. I’m ready to get it over with. Me, I don’t get excited; I fret. I am thrilled to have a show. I need it, it’s where I supposed to be and what I’m supposed to do . . . You know what? Let’s just stop me here. Yeah, I feel like venting. But pissing and moaning especially here is just not what I want to do. It’s also not something I want to expose y’all to. I have a lot of good things happening to me now, this, this is not the proper way to appreciate that fact. I’m gonna have another cup of coffee and I will purposefully meditate on the blessings in my life.