Pug No. 1

Pug No. 1

Oil on canvas, 12x12, commission

I've been absolutely flattened by some virus now for what feels like an eternity, and I've come to a few realizations.

The first is that I almost never get any small illnesses. Little things - sore throats, upset stomachs, headaches - these just don't happen to me. When I do get sick, it's sleep-the-clock-around, sure-I'm-never-getting-better kind of sick.

The second is that, if I ever get some sort of terminal illness, it would be in Peter's best interest to just leave me. Clearly, I will be unable to keep myself from whining and complaining. If I am this abysmal with the flu, I will be unbearable with a fatal illness.

I'd be best off just walking into the desert, or finding an ice floe and setting myself adrift.

Honestly, if I could leave my own self, I would.