Desperate times call for desperate measures, but really, what does it say about me that after inadvertently plopping my paintbrush into my coffee cup (instead of the correct receptacle, aka the playdough container) I actually considered, briefly, drinking it anyway.  Notice there's no question mark at the end of that statement.  Because I know what it says about me: I'm way too attached to my coffee.  Not to worry; I dumped it out, rinsed the cup (and the brush) and brewed a fresh one.

In between trying to poison myself, I've been doing some painting!  Here's what's on my worktable:

I'm loving these acrylic works on paper, somehow it feels liberating and allows me to get abstract-y more easily.  Notice I learned my lesson and there's no longer a coffee cup on the table.  Not really.  It must've been in my hand .  :D