Ran some 60 flights of stairs. My legs are still a-tremblin’.
What do I have to report? What have I on the agenda? What’s new?
. . . Nothing
. . . Fuck.
I’m drawing again. On shaky legs (PUN!), which means I’m not where I want to be. Which means there’s room for improvement. There will always be room for improvement. You know, neuroticism. Art/artist. At least I’m doing it, this is where I want to be and I’m here. Even though it violates my self imposed shame, I’m sharing. Sharing means caring.
Writing, so far this is it. I’m OK with this blogging business. Gives me freedom of expression, practice with sentence structure, and vocabulary building. Feels like I’ve got a competent hand and a comfortable style. Were I to up my writing game in anyway, write more often? I dunno, maybe more variation to keep myself challenged and the style fresh.
Life is mellow. You’ll catch me, you know, taking it easy where I can. By nature, I isolate a whole lot. Which is fine in measured doses but, like anything, too much can be unhealthy. It’d be ideal for me to explore and participate in more social outlets but, yes there’s a “but”, my comfort zone is oh so comfy. Heh, I’ll, I don’t know, life will do what life does and force me out eventually.
Referencing introversion, the introverted nature of my crafts v the necessity for celebrity. Art and writing aren’t enough. There is the aspect where one must advertise and another where one shmoozes with the crowds. In both departments, you’ll find me cowering in the corner. “What if they dislike or reject me?” my insecurities insist. Well, I guess this is where we practice bravery.
I laugh nervously. I know I’ll have to do it eventually, but, yes there’s another “but”, can I just craft in peace and enjoy the quiet just a little longer? . . . Just a little longer.