Having Faith

Okay, if I were a good blogger I would be taking pictures of my new place and giving you the ins and outs of the move, and making it hella entertaining and a fantastic read. But fuck, it's just boring. I've been painting and putting up blinds and trying to find curtain brackets and making enough trips to Ikea to last me a goddamned lifetime.

You don't want to read about that, I'm telling you.

Though I'm so out of practice with this blogging thing, I seem to have lost the knack of knowing what you want to read about and how to package that up.

Instead, I've been sitting at the computer, my fingers flailing about. Always returning faithfully to delete.

I want to write about CT's impending visit, about how it feels to have moved, to live here, to own instead of rent, tips on how to be friends with your ex. Indeed, I've given all those things a whirl, but I can feel that I'm not writing them from where the good posts come from.

It worries me a little. I haven't felt like writing much at all this past week. Now that I'm feeling less worn down to the nub, I'm starting to feel a little bottled up, but don't quite remember how to co-ordinate my fingers well enough to work myself up and clear the pipes.

These are the times you just have to believe it will be okay, that your talent, whatever its strength to begin, has actually not shrivelled to nothing, that it's just waiting for you to wake it up and release it once more.