It's the start of another weekend.
Life is depressing.
Pottering around without focus.
Will try and pick up a paint brush today and see what I may be able to achieve. My biggest problem is that if I force myself to paint, I am never happy with the end results. Like all true artists I have to be in the right place to be able to turn out acceptable pieces of art.
It's interesting. I recall reading an article in some psychology magazine (I read these when I'm in treatment or hospital) that the artistic or "sensitives" are more prone to mental illness than any other. I guess that being both has it price to pay.
So I'm home alone, again. Even in the home with three other people, you can still be all alone.
I did some remodeling and moved my boardgames out from the room that suffers flooding during heavy rain. I'm sitting here looking at Talisman, thinking how much fun I had in the 80's playing this game. Now it sits on the shelf taunting me.
I can sympathise with my grandfather now. It was very lonely (of sorts) for him. He outlived all his friends. In the end, while he still had my family to support him and a few neighbours, you could tell how sad he was. I find I'm in a similar situation.
I talk to myself.