After two months of writing nothing more than a permission slip for a child's school excursion, I've noticed a restlessness begin to permeate my life. I'm edgy and unfocussed. I try to read but I lose interest. I watch TV but even my favourite show fails to fully entertain me. I accuse my husband of being grumpy, but perhaps it's me who is grumpy. Life is good, the sun is shining and the kids are blooming - all is well in my world. I just have this niggle I couldn't quite identify - until today. I realised I need to write.
I don't care who's reading this. I doubt anyone will still be reading here - why should they? I've been away such a long time in this fast-paced world. So it's not really with any audience in mind I write. I just need to write. I miss expressing myself, rendering experiences forever immortal on a page. I miss feeling that I have something worthwhile to say (whether this be true or not). I miss the fact that when I write here, I realise what I've been thinking and feeling more clearly than at any other time in my busy life.
Re-reading the above paragraphs, I'm aware I sound like a self-obsessed loser. And maybe that's true when it comes to writing. But in my defence, I do think of others throughout my day. I care for my family, I stay in touch with friends, I try to be a good listener at work. But writing is my little bubble, my refuge. I want to do more of it.
