I think it must be after one o'clock. Still early for me some nights. I painted six hours straight and shopped it till tomorrow.

Manana. Got to get more paperwork done. Then the new gallery painting walls. I'm not doing it but I have a crew there.

This painting upstairs in my studio is a barn. The barn is in my little homey town-village near here and my uncles grew up on that property. The barn was where we all played. It is a small two and half story barn, not the big type used for farming. It contained some old buggies and stacvks of wood. The downstairs was a pig shed.

The barn may be my last barn painting. I'm moving on.

EXTRA-EXTRA!

I could not care less about Sandra Bullock's marriage to the arch criminal train robber Jesse James (LOL) or about the tattooed woman he screwed on the side. Please, newspeople, broadcast some news. Those kind ofstories belong in the tabloids or on TMZ, television's true vast wasteland.

The cats are a bit upset about my not following human hours. I work, I catnap, I work again. I drove to the post office at 4:30 am this morning. When I got back they were in a state of panic.

"What T.F, Jondude!"

I will subside into normal human schedules once I get more caught up.

Someone said: "DELEGATE"

To whom? Hobbes? My 90-year-old mother who is giving me an ulcer? She calls and threatens that she is going to go out and walk "home." Suddenly she hates the care center.

A psychiatrist is coming Wednesday to see her. We haven't told her that the Dr. is a Psychiatrist. She is old fashioned, pre-Freud or Jungian, and would hide somewhere. We told her he is a Social Studies teacher who is doing a survey for his PhD.

I still can lie to my mother.

Nighty-night.