[Spooky!! 31/08/06 - The missing copy of said painting was recovered today in Oslo!]
It's all going a bit Edvard Munch down here.
Oh I give up, I just went on a really big rant about a ridiculous subject; typing away furiously. Spent about ten minutes before deciding no, that sounds fucking ridiculous and hit delete.
Nothing important anyway.
The house is mine once again, and I've had it up to here with assembling flat-pack furniture, how ever lovely it looks when finished.
Several friends have been real nice in talking me through my sudden lack of confidence and drive. I can't explain quite where and when it hit, but that I still feel turbulent when I should feel settled and real proud of myself.
I'm getting more and more terrified that I've made yet another mistake.
I want to walk out the door and into the middle of the forest out the back of the house, stand in the centre where the paths merge and scream my lungs out through shear frustration.
Thing is; it's pitch dark out the back, I watched The Blair Witch Project again the other night, and the nettles near the entrance of the wood sting like hell.
This crisis of confidence is one of my own manufacture, I know, I know...
Give me a week, this will hopefully blow over.