More scribbles for my web weary perusers!

A wee sketch of... You guessed it! Tulip fields and a windmill! I hope to try something similar in oils soon!!

It's a highland coo!! Moo!! Haha.. Roughly sketched over breakfast, was quite pleased with it. Annoyed that the nearest bit of stationary was a blue pen though.

As it draws to a close...

The last few weeks have flown past, the last few days went even faster. Streaking past in blurs, all I seem to be left with are smears of colour and snippets of conversation.
Today was the last Monday I will ever work at my shop. My last day being Wednesday. All i can think about is waking up Tuesday morning and saying "Tomorrow is my last day,"... everything just seems so final now.

Despite desperately wanting to move to Edinburgh I find myself experiencing more trepidation than excitement. More fear than happiness and far more nightmares of failure than optimistic dreams of success. I suppose most people feel this way, though I tend to take it to an extreme.

 It amazes me that anyone is able to achieve their dreams these days. In fact, I'm constantly amazed that people even bother dreaming. Living in the cold and cynical world that we do, surely 99% of the world should know that their dreams will never be anything but? Ah, but there is that 1% isn't there? That tiny fraction that we all desperately hope we will fall into.
I will be part of the exclusive club that gets what they always dreamed of. If I work hard enough. If I show I'm determined. Surely someone will see how much I want this? How much I need this? I can't be part of that majority that slaves away in a job that they hate. Growing more and more bitter with every day that passes. Every work colleague that I have to put up with. Every horrendous customer I have to smile and fawn over. Every shitty boss who's arse I need to kiss to gain that tiny extra step forward towards the life I want. The minuscule foothold up the slick cliff face that I struggle up, determinedly climbing towards my dream. My prize at the top. Until, exhausted and discouraged, your bloody fingers slip and you fall down further into the hell that you so desperately attempted to crawl out of.

Gosh. That was a bit depressing, wasn't it?
Hahahaha!
Sorry about that!

Look... you only get one life. You only get one youth. Just be sure that you are doing what is best for you. Don't wait until you have reached the end of your days to say, "hey, I actually am not very pleased with how things are going, to be perfectly honest,". Rather take the opportunity to think about what would be a bigger regret. Trying and failing? Or not trying and never knowing if you might have succeeded.

AT least if you try and things go pear shaped you can change the plan and see if, perhaps, there wasn't another dream hidden in your heart? One that you might like to have a go at? And so, we try again. Yes, we might fail a second time, but we might also succeed.

Be kind to one another.

Argh! The injustice of it all!!

Jeezo, I suck at packing.

My room has been a mess of half-filled boxes, piles of partially folded clothes, bags of rubbish, labels  of "for charity"; "Edinburgh" and "destined for the skip". At this stage I feel like slapping the "destined for the skip" label on everything and moving with just a suitcase of clothes and a few of my favourite books. Unfortunately, I'm a nester. I nest. The place I live in has to feel like a home. Hence the massive frames, pictures on the walls, the modest but good collection of books on the shelves, the cushions, quilts, linens, candles, mirrors, clocks, etc, etc. Not to mention all the bloody art supplies I'm hauling around wherever I go. The canvases, the frames not yet filled with artwork but that I couldn't possibly  give up because it would feel like a betrayal or submission that I'll never achieve my dream of being an artist.

I cannot comprehend how I managed to amass such a staggering amount of crap. There is definitely some hoarder blood in me. I say that not with pride but with defeat. I earn peanuts!! Where did I find the money to pay for all of this?!

And so, I sit amidst piles, towers and walls of my own possessions. Now they feel like my enemies. An army standing to attention in the form of a maze. Trying to confuse me. What is most important? What do I take with me? What will I need? What can I afford to leave behind? But what if I need that? You never know. Edinburgh is full of possibilities after all. Surely I should be prepared for any eventuality? Especially considering I'm broke and can't possibly buy anything new once I'm there. Which at this stage, I'm sorry to say, includes food.

I can hardly find the will to shift another box, to locate the tape that will seal away my things. My memories (both miserable and happy alike) of my time in Blairgowrie. Will I ever return for these boxes? I can barely afford the moving van the first time around, will I manage to scrape together enough for a second journey at a later stage? Who knows?
All I know is that I'm sleeping on the cold, hard floor in a cold, dingy flat that will never be my home. No matter how many pictures I put on the walls. No matter how many cushions I place strategically to make a hard place soft and a cold place warm.

I had better get back to it. Before despair takes over.

So I will put on happy music, and a pretend smile that no one is around to suspect may be false, and I will carry on. As I have always done and always will do. I will just carry on, because there is nothing else I can do. It's all anyone can ever do.

Holy effing hell...

Right, so my brilliant plan to move to Edinburgh has taken a very dramatic turn of events... not the pleasant kind.

This wonderful plan of mine stemmed from the news that my friend's flatmate had decided that he was moving back home.. or to London or something. I don't know. To be honest, I didn't really give a flying f**ck. That flying f**k has now been given as I have discovered he isn't quite as determined to push off as I was led to believe. Well, that is just bloody wonderful.
I handed in my notice at my flat and my job... all based on the understanding that HE WAS LEAVING!
Now, I've energeticly paddled my little boat all the way up Shit Creek where I proceeded to hurl my paddle,  as far away from myself into the churning river of poo; where it promptly disappeared from view beneath the bubbling surface of fragrant faeces; that I now will need to navigate.

Why did I do it?! I've been asking myself over and over again. Why, why, why? You don't do spontaneity, Deva. You never have. No impulse buys. No exciting menu changes at your regular restaurants and takeaways. The most exciting change you ever extend to is a new brand of shampoo! Which most of the time you don't like and then you'll tell yourself not to do it again and stick with the same old reliable brand.

Now, I'm unemployed and homeless. What the hell was I thinking!?!

God. That is all I can manage right now. I'm going to throw myself into a full scale anxiety attack if I don't stop writing about this now.

Chat later. I sincerely hope I have a better news to tell you later. Mostly for my sake. I think we can agree I'm allowed too be a little self absorbed right now.

Bye.

P.S. I edited out most of the expletives but there were a couple I had to leave behind for effect.