It has happened again. Every time I fly somewhere on a germ infested airplane, I end up sick. Takes about a week to incubate, and as of yesterday, sure enough, I have ebola. I may start bleeding from my eyes and ears, and every other orifice, and I may invent a few more just for kicks. Was it the huge man I sat next to whose arms spilled over into my seat because of laws of physics who kept clearing his throat and spitting into a tissue and then patting my hand to sooth my shrieking nerves every time we hit turbulence, or was it the baby who cried for four hours from St. Louis to LA two seats behind me? God, I love flying. I do my best not to touch my face on airplanes, but those persistent little bugs are devious. I notice that on airplanes my eyes sting for some reason. You want to close them and rub them and sooth them somehow. That’s it. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a terrorist plot. They are putting something in the air to make our eyes sting so we will all catch the virus of the day. I’ll bet everyone on that plane is coughing and sneezing and aching just like I am today and spreading it to family and friends. Bastards.
And what, say you, does this have to do with painting here on our blog about painting? Not a damn thing. I’m just cranky, and it is early early Sunday morning because I couldn’t sleep, and I felt like venting. Bill will be mad at me for not uploading a picture for all of you who like shiny things, but the only picture that would work here would be of me in my jammies with a red nose and a scowl. Not gonna happen. If he doesn’t like it, I’ll give him my cold and see how much he feels like blogging about painting.