Breaking the silence

It’s a stand-off. Me and my diary. Who will break first?

Like the sulky silence at the end of an argument. Both lying in bed, pretending to be asleep. Desperately trying to stay awake … purely so that if the other party says, "Are you awake?" you can pretend to be asleep and perform a silent snub. Because after a silence, the first words that break the silence take on a new resonance, don’t they?

Out of the purple peace of a winter’s church, floats the high voice of a single chorister singing once in Royal David’s City.

From the pale streaks of dawn, the first notes of the dawn chorus pierce the calm with crazy beauty.

After a ten year gap, the artist emerges, blinking, from the attic, with her best work yet; she unveils it to critical acclaim and universal adoration.

And how could I break that? It became too important. The longer the gap in entries, the more that the next entry had to mean. The greater the anticipation. Even if it was only my anticipation. Even if I knew that, as time wore on and diarists carried on living, writing, noting, the gap that my diary left was becoming smaller and smaller. It was a stand-off. I did not want to write unti I had something to write that would justify the silence. And the longer the silence, the more special that subject had to be in order to justify it. I was stuck in a circle of self-justifying diary blackout. (I was also, lest you think that my online life is fuelled entirely by existential crises, exceptionally busy at work.)

So why now?

Well. It’s a Monday evening. Jack and I have eaten dinner. The house is tidy. The cupboards are cleaned out. The bath is scrubbed. And finally, the great long list of Things That I Should Do Before I Waste Time Updating My Online Diary had shrunk to almost nothing.

And so I thought… well, why not?

It was a stand-off. But I have climbed down. I have spoken first. Not with words that will justify the gap, but with words that will justify being here. And I have just one question for myself, which is this:

If I enjoy writing in my diary as much as I know that I do (I’m smiling at my keyboard, it’s sad but true), then why don’t I write here more often?

Yours, thoughtfully,

therumtumtugger

xxx