The Best Kind of Angel.

I've been so busy, I haven't had a lot of time to just sit down and write a traditional post for a long while.
Hopefully I'll fix that right about now:

My grandmother's dying. The cool, spiritualist one. I'd like to say she'll be okay, or she's got a fighting chance, but it's gotten to the point where she's about vegetative. I told her I loved her and that I'm praying for her, but she could only groan in reply. And after a bit, she couldn't groan either. She's entered renal failure, which is pretty disastrous, and complications with her heart are making dialysis unsuccessful.

I prayed that she goes peacefully, and without any struggle. I know that sounds messed up,

but she's got this colossal octopus of I.V. in her that keep her alive, but only in the physical sense.

It's just no way to live.

My mother left to be with her. I've been teaching Children's Fitness at the church alone, as such. It hasn't been an utter calamity - I've found one game they're particularly fond of. When I was a little boy in grade-school, I thankfully had one of the more fun and innovative Gymteachers in the form of a man who's name I cannot remember but who looked suspiciously like Jason Bourne. It was a bit of a joke that when he took his glasses off, he turned into Jason Bourne, and then when he got Lasik Surgery, that he were Jason Bourne. All the same, I've been bumming games he'd used oh so long ago. One that they really liked was the Hula-Hoop Relay. Basically, in two teams, one person goes down with a hula-hoop. And when they get back, a team-mate grabs onto it too, and they go down and back.

The idea is for them to get their entire team clowncar'd on a hula-hoop, down and back, before the other team does the same. Kids? In a crowd? Competitively? They ate it up, and they were requesting encores.

Made me feel good. I was worried about doing it alone, but I figured if I'm going to assume a leadership position in Boot-Camp trying to get an advanced paygrade, I'm going to have to do a lot of crap alone, so I might as well not back-out and just teach classes like a champ.

 Oh god. I just got a call from filling out offers for Leigh. They sincerely just called and requested "Science-sempai" for a promotional offer. That's hilarious. Good lord.

Speaking of Leigh and science, here's a doodle. It's Swing. In her monstrous demonic hate-beast form.
She'd told me about a particularly grim roleplay she'd done where she'd visited a child in Church and proceeded to devour them after Big Bad Wolf'ing it a bit:

"Are you an angel, miss?"

"The best kind."

My first time drawing anything particularly "Furry" in nature. I'm kind of trying to branch out as of late. Leigh's been drawing a whole lot and I'm struggling to keep-up so I don't fall into awesomedebt.

Today's off to a good start. However, I've got a bit of a to-do list. I'm helping with some Airport Arrangements, and transferring one of Emily's perscriptions. I was supposed to speak with my Recruiting Officer, but I knocked that out pretty early and things are going swell. Moving right on down the line I've just got to go to the Gym.

Also, yesterday was Pyon's birthday. Hospital-Pyon. Crude In-Game Name Pyon. 

COOL PYON.

(You know the one.)

He's officially twenty-one, which means he can now die in wars, buy lottery tickets, smoke, AND drink!

I drew him a big wedge of cake on a postcard and mailed it to him.

Usually, I'd mail cookies but I'm a little bit tied up as of late financially.

Anyways. I'm going to go work out now.

Thank you for reading.

Shit, and the Chronicles of Liam.

Let's kick this off early so that we can get the latter half of the title out of the way with a quickness. It's a happier occasion anyways:

LIAM'S BIRTHDAY IS TODAY.

(Give him gifts of myrrh, in-game currencies, and nudes.)

Liam, if you didn't know, is a good friend of mine with whom I share a really bizarre history. You probably know a lot about it, because it was a huge learning experience for the both of us. All the same, Today's a day to admire how far he's come over the years, laugh about stupid-ass guild shenanigans in VidyaRO, Maid-Salute, and generally appreciate our resident Dark Reign pro, Maid Overlord, and Maker of "Mmph"s. If you've not already, hit 'em up Right Here and throw some confetti for him.

Skirting right on down the line and knocking the next happy occasion off the list, I'm going to talk about pornography. About two years ago, I was experimenting with my ability to draw - I'd seen a lot of occasions where people were drawing with pencils or tablets, and then coloring-in the subsequent line art. I'd become acquainted with Swedish pornographic artist, RockCandy through his Yume Nikki flashes, as I was very much a fan at the time and hadn't soiled-up my love for it with my love for .flow. 

Paging through his material, I grew really fond of his sole male character, Sixten Tubén, and left a message on his Guestbook stating that I'd draw Sixten, because he seemed really under-appreciated when put next to the female cast. Dicking around in Photoshop a bit, I realized that there was absolutely no way I was going to color-in a lineart of Sixten piloting a FlatSpace space-taxi. I just didn't have the know-how.

I always felt sort of guilty about that, and yesterday morning while reminiscing about that old game Dark Cloud, I suddenly remembered RockCandy and the artwork I'd said I'd do for him. Only this time, I owned up on it. I was elated when he hosted the piece on his page, but embarrassed to find he'd listed the artist as "A guy named Hank".

My Yahoo Mail name is "Hank Rearden," a character from Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. All things considered, though, I know I'm the artist and, well, I don't really have a name I use when doodling!

I think it's because I just doodle. I don't really consider myself much an artist.

And now we land on the other half of the title - Shit.

I'm wrecked. I just trekked twelve miles on foot for thirty bucks. I hope it gets me where I need to go, but that's nowhere until I get it deposited and order my train tickets.

I wasn't aware that they charge such an outrageous rate because "Two-Way Ticket" is actually conductor lingo, and means "Buy two separate tickets."

In my spare time, I've been sorting out the tumultuous relationship between two of my friends - one's young and really undefined, that is, he doesn't know what he wants, where he wants to be, and who he wants to be there with. The other person in the equation is level-headed, persistent, and already on really stable ground. They're really juxtaposed - even age-wise - and it leaves them communicating very poorly and at a sort of conflict of interest as of late. I don't really know what to do, so I've just been coaching them on each-other a bit, trying to get them to convey themselves, and praying that it all works out somehow.

In addition to all of this crap, I'm in the middle of moving, sort of.

I'm not really moving. My parents are moving, but they've recruited me to help and it's just a fuckin' mess.

It doesn't pay either. 

But anyways, that's the gist of things.

I've got to go call someone to make sure driving lessons for someone important are all lined-up.

I should get a shower, too. Those twelve miles have left me feeling sort of, y'know. Greasy.

HEY, SATHYRE.

WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?

Sabina's birthday's rapidly approaching on July 25th, and I was requested to draw a pixel-y doodle wherein Sathyre Merekki explains where babies come from. She's also getting rainbow-themed clothing. There was much rejoicing.

Happy Early Birthday, Sabina. You're the crudest, most bad-ass girl I know. 

And your accent is BITCHIN'.

It's a Very Special Day.

Happy Birthday, you.