creatively speaking, at least. I don't even know if it's possible, but I got in the mood to write yesterday and just didn't have the mojo. So I got to thinking - writing used to be what fed my soul, kept me going when nothing else around seemed right. I could escape into a world of fiction that I was creating (not that I ever finished anything, but still). Maybe I don't need that anymore, or at least not right now. I have so many creative hobbies (and for years I thought I was completely unartistic all because I can't draw a straight line with a ruler, let along a recognizable object). Maybe they're feeding that part of me. Fall is usually the time when I don't have enough spare time to do all the creative projects I want to do. This fall is no different, but now I'm adding a few knitted sweaters, landscape photos I can't wait to take (turn, leaves, turn), home decorating, and some Christmas presents with photos and scrapbooking things.
Tom asked me recently if I was embarassed by my hobbies, because I don't like to knit or scrapbook around anyone. I don't think that's it. Partly, I feel guilty because I'm spending money when I don't bring any money into the household, but that's something I deal with and DH always encourages me in them, regardless of money. I think it's more that I go into my head when I'm doing one of my creative things and I don't want to ignore anyone, which I do if someone's with me. Probably why I don't go to scrapbooking social events. I would either get nothing done or talk to no one, defeating the purpose either way.
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