I just wanted a relatively relaxed day with a chance to finish a thing or two and maybe play Fortnite with my Beloved until it made me sick.
Well... everything went firkin wrong on me. And in my experience, there is little in this world that is worse than the entire world going against you.
About the only thing that went right was finally and at last working out all the bugs in the Rabbit-hole scene for SESP. That thing has been a pain in my bunghole for what feels like an eternity.
I'm all caught up with the animation side of things, now I just need to draw a lot more. I need to make the butterfly animation and I need to make it look special and shiny and I'm going to have some "fun" with that.
First, I need a good heart to trace. Because my previous efforts have been... wobbly.
But before I have to do that, I have to at least finish the missing lineart for the 'dull' background in shot #6. Because I'm pedantic like that.
Today isn't looking any better. Beloved is still kicking up a stink about being asked to do their fair share in a home they also live in. They keep rubbing salt in my wounds and it doesn't help that some people keep telling me that I should be grateful for what I have.
Anxiety. Increased depression. Digestive issues caused by stress. Sleep issues caused by stress. And, oh yes. STRESS.
Yeah. Real fucking grateful for a whole heap of problems I wouldn't have if Beloved just... helped out when I asked them to.
It's not even the shitload of things I have to do on a daily basis. It's just putting their crap away in an orderly fashion. Not a huge deal, right?
Not according to my Beloved. Who says I should get a job so I can pay someone to do everything. Which is never going to happen because those services are only affordable by billionaires.
I never wanted to spew my bile up here, but thanks to people with opinions on my life and my feelings, I had to vent somehow or firkin crash my car because sudden crying jag. Thanks a fuckbunch for those opinions. I did not need them. At all. Call me stupid as much as you like, it will only accelerate the inevitable emotional breakdown.
What I need is solutions that will work. Sponsors. An actual firkin reply from that damned postal-only agency I sent my book to. Some actual TIME to go to all my other blogs and advertise my shit to everyone I can plausibly reach.
But no.
I get fucking arguments.