What? Ugh. Dmphf.
I feel I have so many things to say. To write. Thoughts and ideas and nonsense and nuanced opinion, maybe. Maybe. But I just can’t get these thoughts formed into words in any kind of meaningful way, and out onto a page. The part of my brain that works this stuff out is utterly dormant, the muscle is in atrophy.
We live in a remarkable time, no question. There is so much to talk about. So much to be angry about, and so much to celebrate. Yet I cannot put it out there, the words just…fail, but I feel like my head is swimming. Now, I do realise that my opinion on any given thing is just about as worthwhile as any other random internet punter’s, but, this isn’t for you, it’s for me. I need to make room.
It’s driving me crazy.
The only time I’ve been prolific at blogging was that time when I pledged to write a post every day, back when my first marriage was in the process of disintegrating - not that I realised that at the time. It was also, largely, uninteresting waffle; pretty much as you’d expect with an enforced daily deadline in a life that, looking back with the benefit of hindsight, was not really a fulfilling or happy time for me personally.
Yet - It did feel good to commit to the process, to exercise the muscle and to write; from the heart, not necessarily with any kind of specific goal or coherent point to get across. Now, I feel that bit older (actually, quite a lot older as I think about it), that bit more responsible (ish), sensible (ok! you got me) and guarded. I’ve probably been guilty of oversharing in the past - the minutiae of my daily life isn’t interesting, for anyone - I’ll try and keep my in-built editorial bar higher than this.
I want to write. So, I will. It will be shaky. It will be incoherent and rambling, but it will get better. Bear with me.