I’ve been sketching for roughly 5 hours now and my wrist/hand is actually getting tired, not to mention the numerous carbon smudges I have all over my desk (which has grown downstairs on the kitchen table as well) that I now have to clean up.

As fun as pencil sketching is I wish it wasn’t so un-funnish-ly messy, as opposed to being fun-messy, like gouaches and paints.

So, I spent 11 hours of today in an office, pretty much just filing years of work away.  I’m talking making archive boxes, moving things from different filing cabinets & using those sharp metal things that go in manila foolscap folders.

As a result, I now have:

• a horrible set of nails (they had a coat of glamnail nailpolish in a deep crimson-ish colour by manicare) because the filing cabinets’ dividers scraped against them just a couple of hundred times,
• cuts on my arms from the corners of archive boxes and quite a few papercuts, &
• dry skin from folding boxes/handling paper all day.

All I can do is recoat/redo my nails, moisturise intensively & just deal with it, I guess, but still, it sucks.

Oh & my feet are dry too, but I don’t want to moisturise them or otherwise I might slip down the carpet stairs like my friend did, and end up with a massive black bruise on the back of my thigh.

Speaking of thighs, I hate wearing shorts & sitting on plastic/shiny piano stools, because they stick to your skin & make disgusting marks.

Now I’m having a post-modern moment, examining my thought processes.  I hypothesise that its disintegration (note it is now a separate entity, being not possessed by myself) is inextricably linked to the overall decline in mental activity and sense of direction that has been associated with a former school life.

Back to the topic, yes, the office is my hand’s enemy right now, and it appears too to be my mind’s archnemesis.