Back in my studio and to celebrate I walked a new picture and then painted the dog. Cymbals clashed as little figures scrambled about in the space above my head (my head grew big and small and then shook itself like seaweed); I tried to restore some kind of order but then noticed thick black lines being drawn in what should be vacant space: I numbered and named as many as I could although, hopeless as I am, I then had to rub several out again. June came home temporarily and showed me words written on her sandwich; I countered by showing her a calendar with all the days rearranged. This will mean what will happen tomorrow already happened yesterday. She left again with bite marks in the bread - which, of course, made the message undecipherable.