Fuck Dorian Gray!

Ill. I feel ill. This I don't do, this is not something that is acceptable in my life - it is inconvenient, it is problematic, it is 'Arraaaargh'!

I have a constant headache and feel inclined to sleep longer than normal, my temper is more tetchy, and my concentration is less... what was I saying? oh yes, constant. This is annoying as in order to do my job I keep my energy for that so I feel my 'real' work suffers - hence the gaps in the blog this week, and the reason my progress over my latest artwork has drifted (though I am quite chuffed with this one - and at this rate it might even be on the site by the time this post is up!).

Now while this might sound like traditional 'man flu' moaning, please bare in mind I don't do days off, or accept illness as an excuse for myself to be a bit crap - I should, but I don't. Maybe this is a psychological thing (maybe - it totally is!), and that for me being ill is weakness, and it is my awareness of my own under performance (as a person, as an artist, as a general human being) that pisses me off about the whole situation.

I guess all this goes back to my earlier posts about feeling good enough, or deserving in some way, and if I'm ill and can't paint or write enough I feel like a fraud for not putting in the time. I also worry that my inner sloth might get comfortable in my skin and not push me to produce work of enough quality or quantity. I realise I am scared of who I am!

It's like there's a Me staring back, my own portrait of Dorian Gray; this portrait has all the signs of my inner weaknesses: it is lazy, it is selfish, it is indolent and cruel, it's visage twisted into a soulless smirk and sneer. I recognise this figure, though others may not, and I feel it's breath on my shoulder when I cannot or do not live up to my own standards. This is my insecurity, this is my pursuer and it is this vision that plagues my illness with what I may let out.

So clearly this is not another example of male melodrama when faced with a cold. No, it is a Victorian gothic novel of immense sig... oh. Ahem.

You know what? Maybe I should just give myself a break sometimes - pass the tissues.