Back to writes, among other bad puns

So what has been the problem? Aside from my dislike for thinking up entry titles. Because the thought of writing – outside of the occasional lengthy facebook comment and one single-post attempt with blogger – has been a source of sadness and confusion and frustration and, in some ways, fear, whenever I’ve thought of attempting it since.. well, since my last post here.

Whenever I think of it, and right now in fact, I feel shaky and slightly ill, like I’ve skipped a couple of meals and my stomach has started devouring itself. I mean, I used to love doing it, for all that it was sporadic. I used to think I was quite good at it, even. And even now that the job I’ve managed to stick with for two years involves writing STUFF every day, even if it’s not a terribly thrilling sort of writing, the thought of writing for myself causes these feelings.

It makes a perverse kind of sense that the activity that sustained me through the years of self-loathing and shitty times should itself be the one thing that really causes me to panic about my crapness these days, now that everything in my life is essentially awesome.

So I’ve changed my picture, because I’m not seventeen any longer and my hair is long and I’ve no idea where the pirate hat even IS right now, though it was never really large enough for even my abnormally small skull in the first place.

But, so, and, anywurzle, here’s to giving it a try, at least, instead of engaging in bullshit procrastinatory efforts to revamp the colour scheme, which is really only a way to delay the inevitable NOT WRITING by pretending I’m going to make an honest effort.

So here’s to a small new beginning and the intention to do the same again tomorrow, or in a week, or a month, or even a year, until it’s not so scary any longer.