3PM saturday: receive first batch of graphic files
3PM sunday: receive second & last batch of graphics
7PM sunday: start saving off photoshop layers so i can put them in friendly fireworks frames so i can slice & dice them (i hate photoshop. the only thing i like about it is how the little hand turns into a fist when you click it, so when you’re working on pictures of particularly attractive models you can grope them). *ahem*
7:30PM sunday: can’t focus. surf. post.
7:50PM sunday: back to work. focus? flirt with eric in comments.
8:55PM sunday: figure that this horrible problem i’m having focusing may be alcohol related, so, go downtown to liquor store for two cans of fosters.
9:07PM sunday: pull up in driveway singing ?dirty white boy? at top of lungs.
9:20PM sunday: record timeline up to this point, minimize window. focus.
9:57PM sunday: it’s hot in the kitchen. put hair up in clip thingy, can’t get it to balance right, it’s heavy (still wet from shower at 5PM) hair begins to give me a headache. ow. take hair back down. begin realizing that if i manage to get all the graphics into files & chop them, it’ll be a miracle. page construction is not happening tonight.
10:27PM sunday: finish saving off files, fire up fireworks. take break, get up walk around, do a few yoga stretches, stub toe VERY badly on scooter left in darkened living room. ow. open second fosters. back to work. focus.
10:57PM sunday: more yoga stretches & a spritz of calvin klein’s contradictions in the cleavage for aromatherapy purposes. focus. think about sex. no, focus. no, really, focus.
11:07 PM sunday: make gratuitous reference to big boobs in jon’s comments.
11:20 PM sunday: finish fireworks files. all perfectly organized, exquisitely sliced, & aching to be saved off in slices & arranged in pages. consider this & realise that i’m not gonna make it happen tonight. consider the brilliance of the designer that sent me these files — site’s gonna be freakin’ gorgeous.
speaking of aching, my toe hurts. it really does.
the procrastination was not entirely my fault. being solely in charge of a four year old madman, general house maintenance (not cleaning by any means, but still, not an insignificant amount of work), food preparation &/or acquisition, among other distractions, were responsible for my lagging. really, not (entirely) my fault.
plans for the rest of the evening: surf back to jon’s site to insist he acknowledge the boob reference. fire up the cd player because i still have ?dirty white boy? stuck in my poor head. further surfing to make slightly buzzed comments as i finish second & last fosters. bed.