I’m open, I’m forthcoming and I’ve mentioned I ramble. But how much is too much? I can only begin to conjure up scenarios within the realms of my highly vivid imagination about where this information I type ends up. I’m seeing myself being rejected for wonderful job opportunities because potential employers read my words and write me off as the battiest individual ever known to man.
“Clearly Madam you are not fit to work with the youth of today, there’s far too much already going on in that tiny little head of yours”
hmm. Combine that with my 365 project, I often wonder if I’m providing a little peephole into my soul. Maybe I should just walk through London town with a megaphone screaming, “Come hither world, take a long hard look at who I am. Notice my faults, feast on my fascinating and titillating quirks, love me. Dear God, why won’t you all love me?”
Really that’s what this is all about isn’t it? I mean in a few days I could halfheartedly concoct a theme for this blog. What that would be, I have no idea. Short of a “what I ate, how many times I pooped and what I did at the gym” blog or a “how many assholes refused to give me a job today” blog because that’s all my life consists of right now. I could glorify it and rename it the “eternal jobsearch” blog, but that’s just setting myself up for a deep depression and I presume that since I’ve moved away from Livejournal, I should really keep that type of content to a minimum. That said, I’ll allow myself this one, pretentious and nauseating statement:
I feel that my life and art have a sense of symbiosis. It is what drives me and moves me and in turn I aim to create it in whatever I do…from cooking to dressing to insisting on posting words and pictures that attempt to portray my life as dreamy and captivating. I am hopeless. I need everything to be beautiful and I need to be seen and acknowledged as such too.
Urgh. Listening to myself say that out loud was hideous. I’m off to wash my tongue with soap. Because that’s what English people used to do, apparently, and who am I to meddle with years of tradition?