Wednesday, August 10

tuesdays with crabby.

i did a big ol' horror movie tattoo.
child's play.
no, not it was child's play to do it,
the movie is called that.
you know the one-
with chucky, the evil serial killer soul trapped in a toy?
THAT one.
i mean, c'mon, 
everything has a price.
y'wanna see your best friend's family, 
and get all teary-eyed about his daughter being such a darling?
then you gotta make chucky holding a knife to a kids neck as a portrait.
that's the trade.
the universe brokers a tough deal, duders, 
and it always finds ways to balance the scales.
every time.
sooooooooo, that was a thing that happened.
how'd it go?
i dunno.
we made the best of it, the client and i.
he'll remain nameless, as i forgot to ask him what he's called,
even over all the hours we spanned.
i didn't mean for andy, the victim of his doll's evil spirit,
to look quite so much like jonathan taylor thomas.
simba's voice was going off in my head the whole time.
portraits aren't my everyday hustle,
and i guess a little home improvement snuck it's way into my cheesy horror brain.
oh, stop.
it does look like that kid.
just, not on purpose.
i worked until i couldn't,
and then, as per my new routine, left work early to tend to the terrier.
he's feeling betterish,
and resuming his boomfire cannonball antics with increasing frequency.
i'll tell you guys something-
there's a special feeling i get every single day, walking out of the studio.
it's a skin-scorching, excoriating, paint-blistering resentment.
real talk.
i'm a worker, neighbors.
that's what i do.
a lot. and often. and as hard as i can....
walking away, before the final bell, on a daily basis, 
to tend to what was, up until recently, 
a tag-team effort in obedience and exercise for a family pet 
is an activity that i am unused to, and feel no great affinity for.
it needs to be done, 
and if there's a job to do, i do what needs doing- 
y'feel me? 
it's sorta like that chucky portrait, only imagine everything every day is that.
well, i'm not about to be suddenly become a bad owner 
to a high-energy turbo-charged ultra-attached animal.
it's not HIS fault that he's a puppy with a penchant for troublemaking,
or that he's got boundless joy and enthusiasm for life.
it is, however, now MY problem; 
providing the proper amounts of love and discipline and focus 
for his ferocious battle-beastly F*ery is not a small task.
not at all, ya'll..
those fat stacks of dolla'-dolla' movie checks are getting smaller.
turns out, that's what happens when you do less work.
or rather, 
when you do more other work, alone, and for free.
i think we can agree that i'm feeling a little salty, for sure.
what is there to be done about it?
i've got miles and miles to walk with the boy,
and pans and pans of treats to prepare.
on the one day i don't have to go and tattoo,
you can bet your bottom butthole that i'll be busier than ever,
cramming in all that i can fit into these daylight hours.
on the real-
i'll be up later than late, and up earlier than early.
the only way to get as much done, 
when there's twice as much to do is to sleep less.
i'm wide awake, friends.
the day-night-always-shift never ends;
never quiet, never soft.....

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