Not saying much

I’ve noticed today that most of my posts lately begin with ‘who the hell reads this blog anymore?’ I realise this is annoying to read as someone who isn’t the author of this blog. It’s not fishing for compliments, it’s me wondering what I’m doing, or not doing, with this blog. So many things are conspiring to not make me want to blog, not least of which is me not quite feeling like me.

It will take a while to get used to the changes that have occurred in my life, to really comfortably sink back into my skin. In Australia, even at my lowest point of ‘what am I going to do with my life/career’ panic, I always held onto this version of myself that I could comfortably sink into – it’s a version that I feel is me without the self-defensiveness, shyness, insecurity. It usually comes out through daydreams, or night-dreams, where I could picture stories in my head and just enjoy them. I haven’t been dreaming much lately – of course, I have normal dreams when I sleep, what I mean is, I don’t really feel like me enough to take those elaborate awake dreams with stories I like to make up. This may explain why I’m writing more poetry lately, because I find it easier to write disjointed, metaphorical sentences, rather than big long narratives.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, and it’s most likely a temporary thing. You don’t just make huge life changes and feel completely comfortable in a few short months. You certainly don’t when you do it alone. I’m not unhappy, there are many things in my life that have changed for the better, and for the first time I’m getting paid to do work I love full time. I feel useful, productive, appreciated. Those are not things to be diminished. But I don’t quite feel like me yet. This makes it hard to visit my blog and write. This place only makes sense when I make sense. But then, I do like that it exists and is here waiting for me when I need it.