calling.
I think, if I had a favorite time of day - and I'm sure this isn't the first time I've ever said this - it'd be the dusk. This town transforms at dusk. It's not as harsh or ugly or boring. I like strolling around the yard, the neighborhood, admiring everyone's gardens, their homes, or just the day. Sometimes, if he's not too tired, my brother will come and we'll act stupid, play games, sword fight with sticks. When he doesn't and I'm on my own I like to stop at things - the edge of fences, watch the animals or the afternoon.
I've stopped drawing for the moment; that's how I work. I start and stop, go hard at it for a week or so, two, three, and then drop it, pick up something else and obsess with that until I get bored again. It's probably why this blog suffers so much, poor thing. Thinking of something to write or post that isn't boring is hard though, sometimes. My life is so mundane that there's nothing much to talk about, except the people in it. Truthfully, that's my personal favorite kind of blog to read - ones about people, and their lives, just the little things, so I don't know why I can't do it. Maybe if I was doing something interesting, like school, or even working, then that'd be something to share but I just muddle around here at home and it's so much of the same day in day out that there's no point in remarking on it.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm not doing enough. Being enough. I haven't traveled, I don't go to school, I can't craft jewelery, or write novels. While everyone else I know is having babies young, getting engaged, backpacking, I'm just staying in the one place. Not that I mind that - I mean, I like being here, at home with my family. Family is the most important thing to me, so this is nothing that I resent but I feel like that's the problem, that I don't want enough for myself. I just take everything one day at a time, but what if I don't plan enough? All I want, all I really want is to just potter around with my art. Being the family housewife, that doesn't bother me in the slightest. I don't mind doing things for others, not the ones I love. Plus they do so much for me.
This is vanity itself, but I think I'd like to see what I seem like to the others that know me. My brother frequently calls me an awful bitch because I'm so belligerent, apparently - but then he'll turn around and say that I've gotten so quiet since high school, that I'm not the same. A friend told me I reminded her of her grandmother, which is not something I normally think of in bad terms since my own was fierce, lady-like, but remembering the look on her face as she said it makes me think that she didn't mean it in a flattering way. I like to think that I'm funny, witty, not afraid of anything but I'm beginning to doubt the verity of my self-image. My brother's worry and resignation over me is enough, I think, to believe I need to reassess myself.
Currently I'm reading Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. I'm enjoying it thoroughly, imagining everyone as their actor counterparts from the movie. I hope that if this reworking of Austen novels trend continues, they do Mansfield Park. That is my absolute favorite book; I love Fanny, how gentle she is. I hated how the movie had to change it, as though being a softer sort of person isn't good enough anymore, that heroines have to be stronger, braver, while having small moments of vulnerability, instead of being the other way around, with moments of strength. That was the charm of Fanny for me, honestly, because I could relate.
All this just makes me want to read the novel again, haha. I think after I'm done with Sea Monsters (and I'm close to the end, too), I'll cut myself a piece of the chocolate cake we have and curl up with Mansfield. :)