A blank screen

Sitting at my desk yesterday I know that I had something that I wanted to write about… but I didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday. And as I sit here this morning, I wonder what it was… and why can’t I remember. I also sit here, being almost flabbergasted that I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what I want to write. I have so many ideas flitting back and forth… but nothing jumps at me. Nothing grabs me.

Its a new year… and I sit here, at a loss for words. I guess that “do I really have something to say” part of me is back.

On one hand, I am happier and more content than I have ever been. I don’t want to complain, or be dark or anything, but when I think about writing, and what I want to write about, its as though a dark cloud sweeps over me. And I want to talk about sadness. About things that have and do make me sad. I want to grump and groan. And that’s not me. I’m always the one smiling. Happy about one or another thing… then why am I feeling this sadness? This desire to be sad?

I remember a few years ago when I broke up with my ex boyfriend. That whole relationship would play over and over in my mind – things like, what could I have done differently, what did I do wrong, what did I do right. I completely pulled it apart. Eventually I realised that I was letting 9 to 12 months of my life consume me. I was thinking and  obbsessing over it way to much. So I gave myself a limit. A time limit each day. I could have one memory. And when that memory was done, it was time to stop wasting my energy on that.

Within a few short weeks I’d almost completely stopped bringing it up in my own mind. The powerful tool that is my mind and heart got better and better at pushing those useless energy suckers away. And yet, again, I sit here… wondering what to write…wondering if I want to remember those times. Because the truth is, they really weren’t that bad. But at the same time, some of those memories have affected me and in a way do still affect me.

And I think about things that make me sad. About wasted time. About wasted energy. And I’m not even sure that sadness is the right term for it.

For example, I think about my father and my sister. And I have no desire to say any more on that subject. I’ve said all I needed to say. The energy I used talking about that whole affair is all gone. And I’m done rehashing it.

When I think about my man. I don’t want to write to much for fear of jinxing it. He really is an amazing guy, and yes, every now and again I guess we have our moments, insecure, unsure silly little moments… And I don’t want to complain – because, there’s nothing really to complain about, and you won’t find me saying a mean thing about him ever – oh, I might get frustrated here or there, but my heart is entirely his… some days I just wonder whether his is mine… but again, that’s insecurity and all that crap.

Then we have my mom – who I’ve mentioned is a most amazing woman. But I don’t want to go on to much about her because one day she may read all this and get a big head. No seriously, its almost as though writing about these people that I love so much will make them less real in my heart. It may make me see things about them that I don’t want to see. You know, put things into perspective. I’m not ready to change the dynamics of these close relationships that I have.

My other friends? Are all over the place. Jo’burg, UK, Germany… My cousin is my closest friend in this town – and she’s family, so she doesn’t count. I’ve been here for a year… and I feel more at peace within myself and who I am than I ever have before…. and yet? I haven’t made, or been able to have a real conversation about hopes, dreams, fears etc… (SF, you don’t count anymore because you moved…).

This is the only real place I have… and yet, I am scared to be real. I am scared to give my all. To throw myself into it. I’m scared of revealing to much about who I am and what I think – I don’t think I’m so scared of what you may think… but more of how it may change me.  Will this all still be enough once I’ve pushed myself inside out and backwards and really had a look at who I am. When I stand naked before me, am I going to be the me that I thought I was, the me that I would like to be? Or am I going to be something different?

I guess that its time to find out. Different isn’t necesarily all bad…

And when you see I haven’t written in a day or two… please feel free to give me a gentle nudge and/or to ask questions…