'Helio's light chases the Night...'

Quarter 'til four, and the night never seems to rest. My eyes have been bloodshot all day. 15 hours of sleep within the past 3 days, 2 days to catch up.
I just finished a painting and a half. I seriously need some bigger canvas...and a real studio. My face is covered in pastel, and that's the way I like it.

I stretched my ears again tonite. I am officially 3/4". They are angry at me right now for stretching them so soon, but the tape on my old plugs was driving me crazy. If only I could get my labret to stretch as easily. I may have to tape my labret plug to stretch it next time. Even my septum doen't give me too much fuss about going bigger.

Tattooed all day again today. They were old clients who brought me some new clients. I like tattooing big custom stuff all day. There is a certain respect that the client commands for putting up with such abuse, and a certain mental rush when the tattooing stops and processing reality commences. I am a mongoloid after tattooing for so long. My mind gets stuck in gear, so little things like processing numbers, dates, and any generic information is limited or nearly impossible. Everything and everyone takes on these crazy shapes and colours, it's like some kind of psychodelic trip. I'm surprised anyone can still understand me talk. Hell, I'm surprised I have enough coordination to stand upright.
My clients are loyal, and very understanding. They treated me to dinner before starting round two. I've found a good 15-20 minute break between tattoos is essential. That 15-20 minutes must be spent doing nothing at my station, not even setting up or breaking down. I must be away from working station, preferably staring at a fixed object. That's how I reset my mode. I just gotta let the buzz wear off so I can hop right back into the chair and get 'tattoo drunk' all over again.
I am exhausted. I want a long, refreshing sleep, with a side of foreshadowing dreams. I hope Fate will lend me a sign to help me settle this confusion. My heart won't stop bantering my head, and my lockbox rattles my good intentions. I keep seeing images of a jagged mountain top. Its desolation from rest of the world keeps haunting me. I'd rather be back under the ocean.
I have left a few coins for the sandman. I hope he can delight me with promising visions and physical replenishing. It seems I am the last of the concious lampdusters.