Last time that I wrote a post here, I was drunk on a flight to Cairns. Well guess what mutherfuckers?! Yep. Air bound and feeling ready to over-share.
If you’re a Twitter person you’ll know that I’ve been AWOL for some time now. The concept of ‘some time’ is relative – subjective, even – but for me it means more than a couple of weeks. I mean, I think it has been. Probably closer to a month of detoxing from that anxiety prison. I wish I could say that it’s been a hard time, but honestly it hasn’t. Is that a reflection of my settled mental health, or more a reflection on the curse that Twitter is as a social media platform? I literally don’t know the answer.
So why bother blogging right now? Obviously the synchronicity of the last post, but also my sense of commitment to disengagement from a space that doesn’t seem to reflect who I am now. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps my current non-teaching role, or maybe the peace of mind I currently have. I’ve never felt so at peace. I’m not worried about the content that I have or haven’t produced. I do fret a little about the future. The looming question of WHO AM I doesn’t elude me a single day. Not a single day. But… I’m here. I’m a cliche. I’m this: I am, I am, I am. I’m reading. Not always the classics, often the junk (regency romance is my bag) but it’s giving me mental space. I feel like next year could be my year.
I’m wavering between academia, non-fiction, and fiction. I’ve got ideas. I need spurs. Prick me, will you? Haha. Without Twitter, I have to trust myself. I trust that this experience is liberating and terrifying. Not sure why anyone would give a shit, but here I am sharing that story anyway.
