I wasn’t sure I would blog again. You miss a week here or there, and then you find it more and more difficult to get back into the game. The blogging world shifts, new faces appear and before you know it, you feel like an outsider tiptoeing on the periphary of something, uncertain whether you want back in. A bloggy voyeur.
But the nagging feeling keeps gnawing away. Should i? Can i?
So I’m writing this post out of curiosity more than anything. Interested to see how those keys might feel under my fingers, whether the words will flow.
So much has happened these past 18 months and I’ve changed. No longer identifying with Marketing OR Milk, the line drawing of mother and child, nor the over-expectant tagline.
Perhaps that’s why I stopped writing. If I don’t know who I am, who the hell am I writing for? But hasn’t that always been the point of my writing – to question, search, define and CHANGE?
And whoever this person might be, wherever she might be going (and believe me, at the moment she has no clue) I quite like her. She’s older, wiser, a little sad at times, and definitely prone to an embarrassing outburst or two, but perhaps still with something to say.
And as I write, the familar feeling of release takes over: Each word like a small tentative cut: Slowly relaxing.
Shameful, playful self-harm.