I'm a self-absorbed, very insular sort of art geek. I don't often have contact with real people -- mostly, there are those who look at my drawings, paintings, poems, and other works and comment on the composition or content, or they let somebody else do that, in negotiating the paltry payment for the works. Occasionally, a friend will send me an e-mail or call me during one of my favorite shows, but I generally don't have much of a social life. I moved here to resume the quiet life I had when I was 16 years of age -- you know, nobody admits to knowing that funny-looking girl, nobody invites her to places she wouldn't want to be in the first place, and weekends are for catching up on the sleep you lost by reading too much during the week.
And so it is with great shock that I realize... I have a social life. I made friends with people who seem to think my company isn't too painful to keep, and so I get invited out to dinners, lunches, shopping trips, and so on. This is not normal, for my reclusive life. I'm not sure I can cope with it. These really nice, really lively people keep interrupting my selfish online misery and dragging me away to have... ecch... fun.
And so it is sincere apologies I must offer to anybody who has been expecting quality in my blogging, this past few days, weeks, whatever. I try to tell the others that I can't adapt to this new lifestyle, that the distractions only make me less of a social creature, but they're intent upon proving me wrong. On the day that I write brilliantly, they will truly learn. BWAHAHAHAHA!
Until that day, please forgive me and have patience.