I write, therefore I am.

I last posted a day before my 31^st birthday.

I turned 31, and some things have happened since then.

My relationship with Daniel has gone from strength to strength.

I’ve planted a little garden.

Time has slipped past me.

I’ve been responsible, and irresponsible.

I have read a lot (and not so much) for my book club.

I’ve stopped writing.

The last one worries me. I could give you any number of reasons why I haven’t written anything. I’m tired, I’m busy, I’m uninspired, I’m not enjoying it. All of those things are true to a degree, and also untrue to a degree.

I write because there is something inside me that needs release, an idea clawing for freedom. I have had ideas and they are building like a storm. Ideas that go beyond simple blog posts.

I think Doctor Who said it best when he said “But that’s not what you meant, is it?”.

Indeed it is not.