I love my blog so I don’t know why I’ve neglected it. When I say I love it, I mean I like seeing it on my computer screen all red and black, seeing my words in print, reading the responses of lovely people, most of whom I’ve never met.
It seems to me I’ve conjured up this monster in my head called *writing*. It has become a task, an undertaking, an obligation to express something profound in a beautiful way. All this pressure cripples me. Today, when I was writing in my journal I realised that I’ve been doing it all wrong. Writing is not about the words, or even the content, it is about unravelling the thoughts in my head and communicating them to someone out there who might find solace, encouragement, amusement or simply a break from their own craziness by reading. Thoughts on paper, life on the screen, my heart made visible.
So I’m back ~ for today at least.
We moved house this past weekend. The owner of our beach house had some trouble with the council and had to convert the property back into one large five bedroom house (there were three granny flats downstairs). If we were to stay we would have had to pay way too much rent for space we didn’t need.
I loved that house, but even good things don’t last forever.
Our new place is ten minutes further up the coast, and is nestled in the bush on the side of the hill. The ocean is a little further away and the walk from the bus is a little steeper but overall the new place is perfect. Even the giant spider I found in the bedroom this morning hasn’t put me off (I caught him in a glass and put him outside).
This is the third time Duckfish and I have moved together. There is no one I’d rather be on this adventure with. I am so lucky to have found the love of my life.