I’ve got the first six HCP shots formatted for presentation; twenty-three more to go. I’ve given up hope of ever selling a print. The Etsy moos spent all their money freezing embryos in order to have six kids each, and don’t have enough going on to appreciate this stuff, anyway. So, I’ve formatted the shots for use as “desktop wallpaper”; perhaps somebody will want one at $2 a crack.
Between shots, there’s enough to do. I was bitched out of the closet, then I was bitched out of the bed. No matter what I do, I’m a target; even if I do nothing, I’m a target. Perhaps, I can arrange the living room as an apartment within an apartment and keep to myself as much as possible. I wish I could afford a small desk; moving this one through narrow doorways and around tight corners is not going to be fun.
I wish I could manage a small house, maybe a RealDoll. I could pretend I had a decent life, I could pretend that I was loved. There’s not enough time for any of it, Chertoff and his RealID have seen to that. I don’t see any success in repealing the ill-gotten legislation, so I don’t see much of a chance of living past May. I want only a little comfort and peace between now and then.
So, I’ll get back to formatting, maybe another six before retiring. I’ll unveil the whole thing at once; Drama “R” Us. I just wish it was worth something. I just wish something, anything, I did had worth.
