We just went to the store to buy milk. I am missing her in advance, because she's going to the cottage for a week with Slozo and Littlestar, to effect repairs in preparation for sale while I effect corporate videos in preparation for getting paid.

"How are you feeling today?" I asked her as we held hands and crossed the parking lot.

"Really good," says Popsicle.

"Did you have a nice sleep?"

"Yeah, had a dream and in the dream I's dreaming about eatine rocks."

"Eating rocks?"

"Yeah, that's silly. Ingrid no eats rocks -- Ingrid eats num-nums."

"You're as smart as you are pretty, my dear. That's undeniably true."

"Oh, Papa," she sighs, in imitation of my wife's tone.



Dog Boy continues in his attempts to seek retribution. I won't list the petty irritants, but suffice it to say I'll be pleased as punch when he dies. Littlestar and I have continued to hold our course along the high road despite all provocation.



I did my little interview-thingy for the local hamster-cage liner a few days ago -- the usual bunk: chatting about teleworking, blogging, and Anakin Skywalker. The lady said the product of our session would appear in Wednesday's edition of the Innisfil Scope. I don't own a hamster, but I'll probably buy a copy anyway.



The project I am working on is one that recurs annually. This year's iteration is -- shockingly -- somewhat less spaztastic than previously, thus throwing off my whole compound accumulation of trite corporate bullshit theory. I will go into greater detail about some of the ridiculousness involved in a few months, when I can see out from under the shadow of my NDA.



We have no food. We are eating the last of the HuSistock supplies: breakfast sausage, peach-juice and macaroni. Last night for dinner I had peach-juice and macaroni, and this morning for breakfast I'll likely eat breakfast sausage and paper napkins, washed down with peach-juice.

The kid gets Cheerios. Lucky ducky.

The cats won't eat their discount kibble. I don't blame them. It looks like mouse turds and smells like a cold fireplace. They sniff at it, and then cry to be let outside so they can catch a decent meal of bird and mouse, moth and bat.

"Bring me back something," I call after them.

This is fine with Slozo, who is on a mission to lose weight in order to acclimatize himself to China, whence he departs in a couple of weeks. He's eating nothing but fish and rice. By the time he leaves he may be only twice the size of a freakishly large Chinaman, like Chewbacca among Ewoks.

"Yabbo-yabbo-yabbo!"



"Wanna watch Star Wars!" says Popsicle. "I love Yoda. He's not mean."

"That's true."

"Doff Vader, he's mean. And Boba Fett, he's mean."

"That's right. That's why we can't watch those parts -- too violent."

"Yeah, too vitamins."

"I think you've watched enough movies lately. Why don't you do some painting?"

"Yeah! I love paintine!"

"I know. What are you going to paint?"

"Doff Vader!"

In fact, what she draws these days is almost exclusively portraits of family members. This zeal for figure-drawing was kicked off after the successful completion of her first representational self-portrait a few weeks ago. Here it is:



For those of you who may be unacquainted with the standards of the toddler genre, the circle is her head, the wavy lines are her hair, the eyes are obvious, and the scratches at the bottom represent her smile.

Popsicle became obsessed with portraiture after watching me make the illustrations for Goodbye to Kitty.



Another client just called. More work. Phew.



I am pretty good at wasting time. A few nights ago I spent like five hours making abstract animations in tune to a one minute sample of one of my brother's newest ambient techno-drones. I never finished it because I got too sleepy, and Littlestar intimated I'd be able to have my way with her if I came to bed before the fell asleep.

I am pretty good at wasting time. Yesterday I burned two hours walking in circles in the great room thinking about how Star Wars could be retold as a Bantu legend. "Begun, the ape wars have," and so on. I did some cool John Williams-influenced a capella though, when Littlestar was out with Slozo.

I am pretty good at wasting time. The other night when I sat down to write another installment of Simon of Space I instead frittered away time upon time surfing the web to learn about the different ways that stars can burn, until my eyes sealed with sleep-glue. The universe is cool.

I am pretty good at wasting time. For, for example, this.



Gotta go.