A confession...

When I started blogging (here and Butimnotcute.WordPress. com) I had this idea that I was going to cultivate an image and curate that image so I could be the kind of person people would like and admire and want to read about. 
That didn't last...
But the thing is, when I blog as my dumb, nerdy, antisocial, weird self, people still read it.
I never expected that.
Thank you.
I think you're awesome too.

Why I make things...

I am a maker. Not in the techy, noun-ish sort of way. I don't really fool with that stuff much, to be honest. But I make things.  All the time. Sometimes I don't even want or need the thing,  but I make it anyway because I need the act of making. I never really thought about it much before today. I just... made things.
I'm just beginning to recognize the significance now.
I make stuff because the world sucks and I can't fix it. Because life is unfair, ugly, and unpleasant. Because it's icky out there, and I can't deal with it sometimes. I create beauty from chaos.
Making things is a tiny patch of control I can have even when everything seems screwy. A way to even the playing field a little. The one way I get to be god, if only for a moment.
It feels good to make stuff.
As a kid,  I learned to sew because we couldn't buy the clothes I wanted.
I learned to knit because it looked fun, and learned to crochet because I needed it for projects I wanted to make.
I learned embroidery to be like Momoko in Kamikaze Girls. And then I discovered I liked it!
I paint, doodle, craft, sculpt, and anything else that gets me going.
I'm not always good at it,  but that doesn't matter.
I don't make things to be perfect.
I make things to have.
To become.
To undo.
To relax.
To escape.
This is why I can keep going.
Because I am a maker.

Please be a maker too.
The world needs makers.

A few things I'm afraid of...

I'm afraid I'll never feel pretty.
I'm afraid I'm not good enough.
I'm afraid by the time I learn not to hate myself it'll be too late to be happy.
I'm afraid I'm too old to be cute.
I'm afraid someone will tell me this.
I'm afraid that someone will be me.
I'm afraid people will think I am the way I am to impress people, or because I want to pretend to fit in with people uounger than me.
I'm afraid if I tell my age, you'll all stop reading.
I'm afraid I'll never belong anywhere.
I'm afraid I'm just talking to myself.
I just noticed how much afraid and a fraud sound alike.
I'm afraid I'll never know who I'm supposed to be, and that who I am now  isn't right. Afraid of being a fraud.

If you're still reading this, you are perfect and beautiful, and you probably needed to hear that.
Thanks for listening.