I’ve been doing some thinking lately. Giving root to little saplings of thinkings that tumble out of my constant questioning of myself when I am not looking.
Blogging is an odd thing to do isn’t it? Sharing excerpts of our life and thoughts with anyone with the time to stop and look/read. Sometimes I wonder why I am still doing this. Then I remember that there are few people in the world who have an appetite for my chats about Africa, abandoned spaces, sewing, Jamaican music, packaging, the subtle variations of black/blue ink etc
In truth, I am an outsider/loner/weirdo. I know that this is a consequence of being myself and being stubbornly comfortable with it. As time passes I realise that I have less and less in common with people that I come across and it is increasingly common to be met with looks of bewilderment when I talk to people about my interests or points of view. Equally, when people talk to me about stuff important to them……I haven’t a clue what they are talking about. I also realise that I am comfortable with these distances of psychology yet somehow it makes others uneasy around me.
Funny enough, Hiro is just the same. So we exist in our own little bubble of comfortable happy oddness when we are together.
Don’t suppose that anyone else is prone to bubble-living?