today's weather: B A S E L I N Eanxiety : 0
agitation : 0
I must confess. I am so obsessed with myself. I have the self-love worthy of the punishment of death, woe is me.
It's not the type of obsession that keeps studying the mirror, preening narcissistic. In fact I rarely enjoy looking at myself in the mirror; I often find too many flaws and disappointingly un-artistic angles.
But when I get bored, I find myself clicking away on my own blogs and reading what I wrote in the past, as if I need to know. And then I praise me for being so clever though I write mostly rubbish.
And when I feel sad, I visit the site where I upload my photography and drawings to cheer myself up. As unimpressive as they are, they lift my spirits because they remind me what an artistic (albeit not at all extraordinary) person I am.
I find that I find my own blogs more interesting than other individuals', even if I don't live a life half as interesting as those photobloggers, travelers, foodies and stay at home moms. How pathetic can I get? I don't really care about not having a gazillion followers at this point; I feel like I am my own best follower.
