due to illness

I made a promise to myself when I began this blog. The promise was to write a post every single day. Indeed, I thought I would do it. Perhaps I don't know myself as well as I'd like to.

I have been very sick though. This is the first excuse. And a good one too, when it's impossible to get out of bed and your housemate makes you tea and toast because your mother lives 2 hours away.

But if I'm really honest with myself, this is just more of the same old, same old. BORING. I have loved the act of writing, of expressing and creating through written language, since I learnt to how to write when I was four. I wrote my first short story when I was six. Given, it definitely needs work (lots of), but this is not the point. Writing is my passion; words move me to emotional extremes far more than movies and music ever have or could (although music is not far behind).

I always 'just wrote'. Nothing was in the way. It was just something I did. Something I loved to do. But lately (since I moved out of home? since my first real relationship? since my crazy university stunts??) writing does not happen as it used to. Something changed, and I don't know what it is. I still feel myself itching inside to get a pen in my hand (or computer) and just scribble (type) away. These days, though, circumstances always seem to get in the way of this. And then I forget my fantastic sentence, or my beautifully articulate paragraph.

And then real sadness is my novel. My baby that I have been writing since I was thirteen. I started that eight years ago. And yet in the last three years I have written something in the vicinity of 1000 words. Pathetic, yes? Sad, yes? Frustrated, me? Yes.

Writing is such a natural expression for me. Why do I put things in my way? Sleep is clearly not more important when I get enough anyway. Nor is money. Nor friends and family and cat. Not that these aren't important, obviously they are, and the latter is very important to me; but why should I let them get in the way of doing what I love? It's is none of these circumstances fault, other people manage to have these circumstances and still write/do whatever it is they love. It is only my decision that gets in the way.

I look forward to the next few months. I will stop letting my nonsense (possibly it just a need to have more drama in my life?) get in my way. I'm moving away from the city for a while, so let's just see what I can pull out, hey?