I miss not having a blog - somewhere I can write the thoughts not suitable for those updates that I publish on my website and share with family and friends.
No matter how I try to talk myself out of it, my mind is constantly writing entries.
Of course, time is still at a premium - the aforementioned updates are few and far between, and even my beloved photo challenges are being done in fortnightly blocks.
I am not going to restart either of my online diaries, because then I would feel obligated to read and comment on the entries of friends and favourites, and my time would once more fritter away. I am much happier being able to lurk randomly around when I have a spare minute, and I am glad to have a few online friends (and numerous strangers) who don't mind me doing so.
I can't use my website because it is almost out of space, I can't just post entries the way blogger does, and it is supposed to be a public showcase of my work. I am not even sure my babyblog is appropriate there.
This place keeps calling to me... the plaintive howl of a wasted space. It has been a monumental failure as a meme-o-rama (not that I blame anyone - it was a silly idea in the first place). The thing is, I have nostalgic longings for it. It makes me sad to see it so quiet. I am also pretty sure I am the only one who ever thinks about bumbling around in the bordello these days.
As a result, I am hereby hijacking this blog for my own selfish concerns ;P
Other erstwhile contributors have a week to protest (preferably with a meme response). If this post is still at the top next Friday, I shall start redecorating... (*rubs hands gleefully... nothing I like better than a bit of web weaving* **insert screwdriver in slot on top of head and turn briskly**)
Anyway, enough prevarication from me. Blog now or forever hold your peace! (Though of course you will always be welcome to lurk and/or comment as the mood takes you.)
I keep reading lovely, loving, inspirational letters which mothers write to their babies. Nine months in the womb and nine months in the world, and I haven't written to David yet. I haven't even attempted to record my feelings about him, the joy and wonder and sheer cuddliness of him, in the medium which is supposedly my specialty - words.
Years before his birth, I purchased a book in which to record his first five years. So far, I have written his name inside the cover... for Christmas I was given another one. He has an empty scrapbook and a bag full of birth and baptism cards to be pasted into it. He has two empty photo albums. I have taken thousands of photos of him. I need to print out the best ones and arrange them - one month to a page - so we have a record of his growth which can't be erased by computer failure. I have a new stack of 50 cds to back-up his archives.
My sister sent me a poem recently with a lot of very beautiful questions. I would like to try to answer some of them sometime.
I need to get off the computer and spend more time just chatting with my husband.
I need to be working towards the things I want to achieve this year - studying for my licence test on Monday, looking at property, investigating university lecture-ships, expanding my thesis into a book... I have a stack of books on Gwen Harwood, twelve of them, beside me, five still unread... of the others, I have scribbled page numbers for note-taking but never gotten back to them. They must be posted back to the university tomorrow, and since I have now finished my degree, I no longer have borrowing privileges. So much for preparing that e-book. It was starting to look like a glorified crib guide, but I was hoping to lift it back to the level of literary criticism.
I have an accumulated sleep debt of several thousand hours. I need to get to bed earlier.
I desperately need more exercise.
One or two of these things might be achieved by blogging. The vast majority will not... but at least making a list reminds me of them, so perhaps it is not such a dangerous idea... the challenge will be indulging... in moderation.