As far as hobbies tend to go

I have few and far between. I have a lust for fashions and beauty, yet not enough of a passion for me to put forth my ideas and opinions as such. No ambition to spark another copy-cat blog of what I wore today, yadda, yadda. But this of course is not what I want. Most certainly, I do revel in such online narcissism and I appreciate those who have the ability and confidence to explore their different garmentary avenues, but I for one cannot and will not follow this path. (Seriously, who needs another today I wore a. b. c.)

Anyway, this is beyond the point for this post. It dawned on me today, more heavily than before, that I have no skills or hobbies, bar the ability to read a text and either be engrossed by it, turned on if you may (in regards to awakening my senses and evoking a driven persona) or simply lost in an "I don't actually give a fuck". But this is all I have, pretty much all I've ever had. An ability with words, sometimes awkwardly structured, but that's it. Maybe that's what adds an essence of quirk to my writings. I hope. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to see others express themselves in various forms and fortifications, be it via music, fashion, generally being an extrovert, and then there is me. Nothing worth writing home about. Sweet F.A.