I have nothing to say this week. How sad is that? (Well, sad to me, possibly not to you . . . ) Seriously, I have been sitting here for almost a full week (although at the moment it seems much much longer) fingers poised over the keyboard, determined to start my next post and . . . nothing. Nada. Not a single idea. (Well—not a single idea that I think anyone else might be interested in reading. I have been tired and cranky all week but I didn’t really want to write tired and cranky things here—there is enough of that in the world already.)
So, rather than berate myself, I am just going to acknowledge the fact and give myself a break (you could probably use a rest from me anyway) but I thought it only polite to let you know that nothing would be forthcoming today—just is case you thought I was being rude and ignoring you all. (You don’t really think I would do that . . . do you?)
I don’t even have any new ‘artistic insights’ to share with you (I haven’t done my art class homework this week either—sigh—head drops to chest) but, by way of compensation (although I am not sure that is the right word) here is a quick sketch I did last weekend, before the malaise descended. I hope it will suffice until I can drag myself out of the mire. (A slow weekend of chocolate, wine and cuddles with my girls will work wonders I am sure . . . )
See you all next week. X
P.S.
‘Word Count’ has just informed me that it has now taken 289 words to tell you I have nothing to say.
George Eliot must be turning in her grave . . .
Sally says . . . eat, sleep, work, read, play, draw, bark . . . 