I keep coming back to this place.
I sort of disapprove of blogging; I definitely can't offer any heartfelt justifications for it and yet this page, a virtual haven, serves a purpose for my words. So I keep coming back.
I feel like someone’s unstopped a kind of flow. I’m rusty with this kind of writing now but there’s a creative process in rhythm and I need some kind of touchstone – a place to check in, somewhere to lean my hand for long enough while I wait for the dizzy spin of words to pass. A place to find my balance.
The thing is, I don’t really want to be read, not here – I suppose I want a thinking space, not an audience; a place to say things aloud without the worry that someone might talk back to me!
So I’ll just write as if no-one’s reading. If you are, you’re welcome, but bear in mind you’re pulling up a chair in a sacred space reserved for me. I don’t mind you being here, but please don’t slurp your drink or rustle food wrappers while I’m trying to concentrate. And most of all don’t think of yourself as a spectator – let me know you’re here and by all means start a conversation. I’m here to think out loud, and if you’re listening, you have to do some talking too.
Life feels like a race sometimes. Every day brings new ideas but too few opportunities to write them down. Already this year’s writing resolutions have all been met and while I’m sometimes giddy with delight at the progress that’s been made, it also means the bar just keeps being raised. September looms, with its promise of new hours of freedom and I feel like I’m filling up a virtual file somewhere in the future with Good Ideas and Interesting Intentions. I wonder if I’ll ever get the space and time I crave to eke out something more considered, less ad hoc.
Blogging makes me nervous. I’m SO conscious of the possibility of being read, and this is the one place where I don’t want to be aware of what anyone else might think or feel. I’ve never been able to answer why I don’t just write a journal without the option to publish it online, though.
The Boys are away on their first ever epic adventure together. It’s bitter sweet. We miss them with an inexplicable ache but we know they’ll be having more fun and memory-making moments than we can imagine. Since I was first pregnant with The Boy, his beloved Nanny has been planning his annual Scottish explorations and it’s a delight to have reached the point where they’re ready for this. He only has eyes for Nanny when she’s in town. Dada noted that this morning when he couldn’t get a look in before leaving for work. But while I was packing little suitcases he languished on his bed and murmured sadly about how much he wanted to stay with me and I was secretly glad to know that he thinks that way, at least for a moment or two before he heads off with barely a backwards glance.
We’re decorating the house. So far the living room is milk-white with a Cadbury’s purple wall. I love it. It’s so soothing and enriching to soak up some colour after 2 years of neutrality.
It’s so strange to adjust to the total lack of pressure that being without children brings. I’ve needed these moments of breathing space SO badly but it’s inspired to have the painting to focus on. Last year I moped throughout The Boy’s absence and this year it’s good to have a project.
Even without the thought of little souls to drag me into wakefulness in the morning, I’m still sleepy and too tired to mine the words to fit the things I want to say. Sentiments skitter away into darkness, like pebbles thrown down a well. I’ll hear echoes for a while and then uninterrupted silence. I’ll come back again tomorrow, and try then to find those words before they bounce off the walls and sink into the inky darkness of the water.
