Good job.

This here is my pal Karlamagnús. I made him for an exhibition and ended up not exhibiting him because his green color didn't go with the brown and the white of all the other things that were around him. Karlamagnús is somewhat pissed but he is so repressed that he doesn't shout at me. He just stares and forgets to blink.
This week has been incredibly hectic and crazy. So far I've played six of my seven shows for Airwaves festival, had oodles of alcohol and danced and talked loudly. This morning I woke up in our sofa in a red dress and my hair looks like someone was sitting on my head yesterday and using it as a swiveling chair.
I've been having so much fun but I actually managed to feel guilty about not writing on my blog. I think something went seriously wrong in my upbringing. I'm always feeling guilty about one thing or another. Maybe I should turn myself in at the Vatican and yell at the poop.. pope: " YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS, TURN ME INTO A CATHOLIC!" I hate seeing my perfectly usable guilt not being used for something(I decided to include my strange pope typo in the sentence for obvious reasons). I'm not a religious person and I don't know what it feels like. I've always imagined that it feels like guilt. That's at least what I think the religious sisters of my grandmother were trying to do, make me feel guilty about stuff. It worked splendidly.
Splendiddedlydoodedly.
Update: Now I feel guilty for accidentally calling the pope, poop and saying my grandmother's sisters were mean, on the internet. I should get the catholic medal of honor.