Today I built the Worst Piece of Furniture Ever.

In a last-ditch attempt to avoid work which has been assigned to me by this or that person, I decided to go and actually construct the artboard/drawing pad case I've been planning on making for ages. I've even had the lumber for it sitting around my apartment for, oh, bit more than a month now. About a third of the way through, I remembered why I hate woodworking. I keep getting these grandiose dreams of building salable armoires and wardrobes. Then, as I work through a project, I realize I have half the needed tools, a smidge of the space, a pittance of the patience, and none of the skill required. My artboard case is now an unstable Frankenstein's Monster of cheap wood, deck screws, and steel bracing. But dammit, that paper ain't restin' on the floor no more!

I did get to wave to the Indians hanging outside my apartment, though. They stand on a platform attached to ropes slung over my roof-of-questionable-strength as they repair and replace the building's facade. In theory, when they're done, they'll repair the roof itself, which has been leaking a bit. I hope they're better at working with their hands than I am.

What else? Lots of school, lots of work. Lots of working on both. I need either more hours in the day or more days in the week. Or less carpentry. Tomorrow's going to be a flurry of shopping (my roommate finally got paid, so we're off to the Beyond), goodbyes (Rachel is off to educate the frogs), acquisitions (whee, free monitor to replace my dying Hitachi), arguments (roommate's political book club meeting at my place; lots of booze and opinions) and work (why I can't have any of the delicious, delicious booze).