I am terrible at blogging.

I'm terrible at blogging. There. It's out. The big secret. I cannot self-promote if my life depends on it.

And I'm coming to a point where I realize that that's kind of important. I work primarily in the arts. I'm looking to promote an Etsy site. (Provided I ever actually begin regularly producing pieces for said Etsy site) I... aspire to be as well-known a burlesque dancer as Dita VonTeese.
(Again, this would be great, provided I was actually *dancing* burlesque)


I am a collection of half-finished projects, stalled at the gate by some unknown apathy. My dreams are immense, and yet I cannot find it in myself to GET OUT THERE AND DO.

I know that, inside me, somewhere, there *has* to be a well, a font of inspiration and beauty and energy and drive. There has to be. How else have I survived these nearly 24 years?


The irony is, if I make a to-do list for the day, I get everything accomplished. But at this point, I'm too lazy even to make those lists.



...On the bright side, I'm awaiting a shipment of very high-quality feathers, so I can kick myself into gear with the fascinators. If I'm not mistaken, I'll be getting them any day now. ^_^