Writing. Something I’ve been doing since I was 12, starting with diaries filled with daily happenings and mundane teen stuff, then moving on to more mundane teenage-y experiences, which I’m sure at the time I wrote them were life changing or profound. Heh.
I realised today that I’ve not kept a proper journal since the start of the year, which is surprising. My last entry was on 5 Jan, which was short and abrupt. I remember the feelings I had while writing that sentence – shock, disbelief and sadness.
There were things I needed to accept as truth. Yet, I couldn’t even put my thoughts down into words, which usually would help speed up the process. I guess working non-stop this past 9 months had something to do with it as I had less time for moody spells or for my mind to just wander.
A muse. I need one. Or three. Because there is no ‘mental edge’ anymore.