Hmm...

I've never been a big one for introspection. I'm not saying that concentrating on your interior thoughts, and trying to find meanings hidden behind your normal consciousness is a bad thing. NOT at all. My friends are extremely talented at writing down their thoughts. Quite often, I'm struck by the profound nature of their words.

I think it comes from me being a visual artist. My profundity comes from the imagery that I create, not from the words that I write or speak. It was something that I struggled with throughout my graduate training in Fine Art. Consistently and daily, we were asked as visual artists, to write about our work. My "inner artist" used to quail at the necessity of this strange change in media. I would often rail against the course, angry in what I perceived as a fallacy.

Writing is a strange beast. To paraphrase a quote by Robert Heinlein, written through one of his characters, "A writer should always wash his hands after performing his trade." Or something along those lines. Anyhoo... It's actually rather true. There's something rather strange about writers. (Don't get angry Mick or N8) I'm not saying that writing isn't something to truly aspire to do well. I do envy both of these people for being able to write things that can touch a human's soul. I hope that in some small way my visual art can do the same thing. It's quite often more difficult to get my point across to others, but I find it strangely satisfying in my own way.

Now that I've rambled quite a bit...

Although I pretend that I'm not able to write... I'm not half bad at tickling the metal-keyboard.

Something struck me today, that I'd love to share... I'm now living in Scotland, the "home" of my ancestry. Now, I'm living in the Scottish Borders, in the very far South of Scotland, so... It's not exactly the same place from whence my ancestors stomped about, but... Heck, it's the same country.

I woke this morning in the caravan that where my fiancée and I are currently living, the temperature was around 12°C, and yes... That's freaking cold. I had to get up, and get "going" early working on making the caravan more "homey" and attempting to get my fiancée out the door to spend the day with her family.

I'm sitting alone in the house now, attached via WI-FI typing away on my laptop, enjoying the silence that surrounds one, out in the country. I enjoy this feeling.

I'm very, very happy that I'm getting married in two weeks from today. I can't wait. Fiona truly IS a gift of the gods, and I consider myself to be truly one of the most blessed of men. I like people, I enjoy the hustle and bustle of the human race flowing around me.

However... There are times in which the quiet that comes from being alone is very satisfying. I find myself missing my introspective moments. It's very busy at the moment... I've just graduated, my wedding is in two weeks, and my time alone is prescribed. I understand that... I really do. But I hope that my enjoyment of my alone time is not taken the wrong way. I love being with my fiancée, and although I'm not terribly fond of my future in-laws, I don't mind being around them. Though, on days like this, I'm extremely content. Content to listen to the breeze in the trees. Content to view the mountains and rolling fields of Southern Scotland. Content to listen to the sheep laying, and the lorries driving past, occasionally, on the road.

It's sunny.

It's beautiful.

And I'm content.

-- T