Once

I made it out to my studio once. Once. Once.
I couldn't move. I had too much to do. So much I haven't done.
There were penguins and people and queens and masks and frames and signs and fabric and houses.
And each raised there little fists to me.
Where have you been? I was supposed to be done weeks ago, you promised!
Look, there's too much guys! I told them. If I work on the penguins, I'll feel guilty about the people. And if I paint a mask, the fabric will get jealous.
I can't do this right now, I need more time!
Then I left.