Out of Sorts
For the past few weeks I have struggled to find anything worth sharing with the small number that continue to read. In the quiet moments of the day, I have wondered about shuttering the blog(s) entirely, but invariably decide that I don'thave to write regularlyand that the stories I tell will quite happily live out here on their own in my absence.
I'm stuck between a rock and a hard placethe irony being that I created the rock, and the hard place. Another irony perhaps is that introspective posts such as this one are hardly going to enthuse anybody.
I find myself censoring nearly everything.
I cannot write about the children any more, because they are growing uptheir story is their own to tell. This is particular true for our eldestshe has suddenly transformed from a mess of awkwardness and elbows into graceful curves, girlish laughter, and sideways glances.
I have never written about work because it crosses too many ethical and professional boundaries. I sometimes wish more freedoms existed in order to tell stories, but too many people know about this blogabout my real identity. Overall this is a good thing, but it does mean the most entertaining stories and characters remain unwritten.
If only you didn't know who I wasoh, the stories I could tell.