Again?

Yes again!
I don't know. I find it expunges something from me. Like, well at least I've done something.
I know what I want to draw. I've bought all the stuff I need to do it. I've done the embarrassingly bad sketches, a sort of brain-storming session with myself. Graphic designers take note. Brain-storming with yourself is not easy.
"Oh, that's a good idea. But wouldn't it be better if you had exactly the same idea, and even though you realise that idea needs a bit of development, you just can't think beyond it?"
It is a lonely life. The life of an illustrator.
I think I would rather be a spy.
You are in constant danger, but you always seem to have plenty of money. And guns.
I don't have any money. Or guns. And frankly it is starting to get on my nerves.
And my balls are constantly itchy. It's not lice. I know about those boys.
I suppose I will have to go to the doctor on Monday, and say, "Hello Doctor, my balls are constantly itchy."
And after the humiliating personal questions are all over with, hopefully he will prescribe something that will allow me to get on with my life without scratching like a dog. It's not just my balls actually. It's everywhere.
My entire body is just one huge itch longing to be scratched at every minute of the day.
The funny thing is, the only place where there is any sign of a rash of any sort is my arms, which don't itch that much most of the time.
But, God. When it really starts itching, you almost wish you were dead. Scratching it only makes it go away until you stop scratching. And there are social occassions where it is not acceptable to be frantically massaging your testicles and saying, " Jesus, that's such a relief."
Doctor appointment first thing Monday, I think.
As for the illustration thing, I can do that tomorrow between scratchings.