It’s quite late.
I really should be in bed.
But I really want to write.
Lately I’ve been pining to create.
I’ve always had an outlet. Needed an outlet.
Needed to sing, to dance, to write, to play, to dream.
Needed also to consume, to converse, to watch, to read, to listen.
During the busier seasons, these things tend to give way, like reeds before a roaring current, submerged and forgotten amongst a thunderous ripple of spreadsheets, deadlines, places-to-go-and-people-to-see.
I hear the call though.
Even over the clamour of the day to day; the crush on the tube train, the shouts in the street, the meetings and phone calls and meetings and emails and meetings. I still know I’m never happier than when I write. Or teach. Or read. Or think.
So I’ll be back, soon (ah, the potential for fail there is strong, but I’m going to choose to believe in myself!). I’ve got lots of ideas and jottings that I’m longing to coax into posts….I have high hopes for a fruitful summer. I can’t wait to get started.