This blog has evolved, in its own strange way, into something that is sort of amorphous and while I’d like to take credit for anything good that’s come of it (I’ve got a hobby!) and deny responsibility for all the shitty parts (lots of bad writing, offensive jokes, hideous art and incompetent photography), I still don’t really feel like I control it so much as it controls me.
Take, for instance, the fact that I have nothing to say about anything today/tonight. It still hasn’t stopped me from drawing pictures of sea creatures and feeling like, because I’ve drawn them, I have to show them to you. (And what is my deal with sea creatures? If I could afford a therapist, I'd be all over that.)
|This is a risque Octopus. (Her 8th leg is behind her. This is not a septopus.)|
It kind of freaks me out, my ever growing need for show-and-tell. It makes me think that maybe I’ve become even more of a narcissist, even more of an exhibitionist; and it’s not how I had intended things to go. On the other hand, I feel like I’m becoming more immune to the feedback I receive in a way that doesn’t make me seem like a super sensitive, whiny bitch. But then again…maybe I’m just becoming inured to criticism, which is scary because it puts me in a head space that can’t possibly be healthy.
|And this is a flying fish.|
No, this post has no point. And yes, I’m sharing it anyway. I’m an American in 2013. If I don’t share this with you on the Interwebs, there’s definitely a chance that I don’t exist. But still…
I like making these pictures and I like writing this blog.
That’s all this was supposed to be about in the first place, if I remember correctly. Which I may not, since I have the memory of a goldfish.
*From Some Like it Hot (Billy Wilder, 1959).