I never get up this late. Then found no bread and no muesli in the house.
Unfriended a fair few people on Facebook yesterday, thinking they'd not really like any ranting about getting my mother's flat on the market. But I have just had enough. Everyone familiar with the probate process say that this length of time should be recorded by the 'Guinness Book of World Records.' The thing is it sours everything; anxiety over money seeps into every corner of my existence.
A typical ineptitude on my part occurred yesterday too. I imagined that the RA 'Summer' Show would have entry requirements later in the year as it is now at the turning of the year, but no, they were as early as ever. So missed that boat. It's all such a frigging expense anyway, with no guarantee of getting in. There are many tales of authors papering their study with rejection slips and then suddenly getting the break that flings them into hyper-fame. Not so common in the art world. And the methods involved are even less likely to increase luck. There is an establishment that is divided between the lovers of the simple and the kitsch and those that adore the 'innovative' however bonkers and unworthy it be. No middle ground.
Now I will probably have to probably go cap in hand to my employer to get crumbs from their wobbly table. And that means less time to produce artwork. It's all carp! But at least it's super-consistent. It's all so bloody pointless.