so much depends
upon

a white styrofoam
cup

filled with thick
milkshake

complete with peanut butter
and banana

Work hard, revise, work, revise. Do it over, start from the beginning. It looks nice, “I like it,” – “Me, too,” “I think we should change it, I don’t like this.” Fixed, repaired, replaced, revamped, stamped, exported, hit send and away she goes. Get one you like that makes everyone happy and the government won’t like it, their grant language is too small, not big enough, tiny, minuscule, itsy-bitsy spider bite but the font is an 18. Work hard, revise, work, revise. Do it over, start from the beginning. It looks nice, “I like it,” – “Me, too,” “I think we should change it, I don’t like this.” Fixed, repaired, replaced, revamped, stamped, exported, hit send and away she goes. Three weeks later and it’s all good, all right, all pristine and shined up, boxed up and wrapped up in the paper we bought on sale last year – December 26th.

And it worked. And the milkshake.

I grabbed up the sketches and printed revisions that lay scattered on my desk and said to my friend, “I’m throwing these babies away,” – my moment of triumph, an active sigh of relief, the motion indicating the final nail in the coffin. He replies, “Hand them to me, I’m going to the recycling bin,” turning my negative symbolism into something positive. I hate him for it, but could learn a lot if I let myself.