burn. out.

i am completely sure this will not come as much of a surprise, given my failure to recently post, but i think i am in the complete, acute, falling in and out throes of burn out.
like the four syllable pronunciation that alicia keys gives "fallin".

i have not gotten back too much on what i've put into the fiber work recently. well. hm. i mean on a grander theme, it's not necessarily a dirty dollars thing. i'm saying i went into it all doe-eyed, and caught a case of deer in the headlights maybe.

i've had no desire to take pictures and edit them endlessly. i've gone into yarn shops and bought supplies, but they languish, languidly, right there on my shelf. gorgeous stuff. silk/cotton. bamboos. crazy great stuff, and they sit. moon pies and cow eyes, and everything pretty much a big fat zero.

which is not to say i haven't been making things. but art shows/fairs/craft things continue to be uphill, as opposed to any other way. from all available evidence, that's kind of how it is. and i will certainly be the first to admit i haven't any sort of successful seeming setup, or over-investment in the outcomes of said events.

and this is the part where i say "buck up, this is where the losers wash out" but...
but...
but i've learned to make (a sort of) okonomiyaki, not to mention finally conquering crepes. i wrote a couple of short stories a month or two ago. i found a sheaf of poetry i sent to my now-partner while he was deployed and completely floored myself. i may be little more interested in that. i certainly long for that one of me, that her more strongly.
(yes, i know i'm whining about/celebrating multiple talents. multiple things i enjoy doing well, and here's how you know i'm listening to my guilty pleasures pandora station, i've got justin timberlake's chorus inviting "cry me a river". don't even start. musically speaking, it's a great freaking song, and it's thursday which is my friday.)

but i feel like i'm getting pulled on, and when i cook, damn sure people appreciate that. and it's no greater an art than evening dinner, so it's something i'd be doing anyway. when i manage to write, i've finally gotten to the point at looking at things in hindsight and realizing i've got a way with it... killing myself softly with my lines, as it were, singing my life with my words.

i'm not going to quit. this is just justification for lack of recent activity. and venting.
i'm sure it happens to all of us. more proof that i'm not invulnerable.