Wondered through the charity shops with Em along George Street. I bought a novel called 'The Canal' which might be interesting, even if, as the back cover states, it is a novel about 'boredom'...
I had a phonecall while I was in the Martletts Charity Shop which sent me spiralling into gloom. I didn't answer it - I recognised the number as being that of someone who had texted me a few weeks previously, asking if I would like to work with him on an art project. I didn't get back to him then either. The whole idea of 'doing something' with my art just, to be frank, scares me. The times before when I have worked with people on art projects - even when they have turned out well- I have just found too stressful to be enjoyable really, not because the people I worked with were stressful, or the work itself was stressful, just that I found it all too stressful. A burden if you like, and when completed, it felt like a weight had been lifted from me. I have laboured under the idea that I would end up 'doing something' with my art for about a decade now. This is probably not going to be the case. Strange I got the phone call today too. I was only thinking last night, on the way to the pub, that it was probably time to put the metaphorical ink-pen away. I've not really enjoyed drawing -even for myself- for a long time now. It just seems like a force of habit than anything else.
The rain, and the seeming end of any artistic ambition conspired to cast a shadow over me throughout the afternoon. I left Em's at about 5:00pm and wondered home where I drank a can of 'Euro-shopper cola' and fell into a fitful broken sleep until about half an hour ago.
Sunday evening. 9:25pm.
Never really got the hang of them.
I wonder whats on telly?
