I threw my back out painting to meet a deadline this week for a show in Butte.  Now, I probably won't even finish the paintings for weeks, much less make the Butte show.  I feel pretty dumb about the whole thing because the gallery has thirty of my paintings already and has just sold three in the past year--after they reduced their prices to chump change.  I feel a Brautigan story coming on:  "Chicken-Feed Art-Deadline Cripple."

At least I got to float for morels on the swollen Jellystone with Doug and Andrea Peacock before I prostrated myself.