Hi! Do you remember blogs? Well, this used to be one. Now it just serves as an archive for my multiple Twitter accounts.
What if I had had the wrong outlook all this time? What if I weren’t the artist, but he was? What if I was just the good guy who’s both sensitive and stable enough to be the artist’s ideal husband? The nice Mr. Woolf playing nurse between the tortured author’s two suicide attempts?
If that’s the case, it’s about time I realize it. And I didn’t see the point of this movie. Hate this idea. But maybe I should get used to it. Have to try the concept. In my head. For a while. Seeing if I get used to it.
All this time I spent thinking I wasn’t creative and neurotic enough to be a real artist. I should have understood.