I started this blog in an attempt to keep my writing alive, and in hopes it would help with my mental health. Years ago I loved writing. I found it so easy. I enjoyed it. Today I can’t remember where to put the right punctuation or even remember half the words that used to frequent my vocabulary.
But I guess that’s adolescence for you. I always believed that Reading and Writing were indulgences. Indulgences for the Rich, and people who could spare a few hours in a day. When I was in school I could do exactly that. I worked on a Sunday, I had no bills, I did all my homework at school during my free periods and I played netball for approximately 4.5 hours a week. And now I fill my time with work, cleaning the house, playing netball, helping my grandpa and mum, studying, cooking, gardening and when I’m not doing these things I’m feeling guilty about not doing them or making mental lists about all the jobs I have yet to do.
Some days I’ll get a brilliant idea or get in the right mood to write something, and then by the time I get to sit down and write, the idea is gone or the mood has fizzled. The mood doesn’t come as much as it used to. Perhaps I am much more content with life now. I still think the world is an awful place, but maybe it doesn’t weigh as heavily on me as it once did.
I do get so tired though, I yearn to sit down, write, and get lost in another world or another persons life.