needy...

Every few days I get this feeling of being quite lost in all of this. This being the whole blogging thing. There are millions of people out there writing junk about whatever lights their candles, whether it's food, motherhood, current affairs, animal torture, whatever - yet what on earth is the point of it all? Who's looking? I comfort myself in the idea that I'm cataloguing and recording stuff just for myself. If nothing else it's making me draw more and look at stuff more - I draw something every day now, but there's no binding thread that runs through my drawings, no development of ideas, so am I just wandering about the yawning cavity of my skull achieving nothing?

I confine some of my weirder thoughts to a different place, and my nastier drawings to another. But really, who on earth cares? Not even my husband cares - he can find lots of time to read about boring shit on Wikipedia, but he can't even muster the energy to have a little peek at my boring shit here every now and then! I might be horribly boring most days (yes, not everyone will find vintage clocks as thrilling as I do) and I guess might be interesting to a handful of people occasionally, but I just need to go through these needy, angsty thoughts every now and then. Oh silly, peevish girl! I see it now, it's just a way of legitimising talking to myself...

OK. Here is a self-portrait showing how I feel today, but with lots of artistic licence (and no, I'm not naked):



I feel like I've gone off at a weird angle this last couple of weeks. I need to focus and stop writing rubbish just so I can say that I wrote something today. OK? Now I'll shut up and go away.