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.