I sometimes wonder how anyone ever gets anything done and why. And then I realise I'm wondering too hard, so I paint my nails. Dad says I sound angry lately - I'm not. Just a bit - nowhere. Frustrated. Am I lazy? I think so. How I long to have some concrete things achieved, so I can feel real. Why I write this blog - it is at least something, even if it really is nothing. My nails are red now, that's something. In the deepest depression comes the greatest fashion because it's then you realise - what else is there? I think the fashion world are more aware than we think - we dismiss it as folly, but fashion people are more aware than any of us of the emptiness of being. I should paint myself more. If you're more designed then you can take more pictures of yourself in your mind, thus be realer, at least for yourself. Perhaps. There is no way of denying the existence of bright red nails - you notice them, they're there. Especially with the clear varnish over the top to make them shine.