If I look confused it's because I'm thinking... Samuel Goldwyn

What things there are to write, if one could only write them!
My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious,
moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest,
those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson,
flutter away beyond my reach. ~Logan Pearsall Smith

I've been quiet... as both Rhian and Sheila have pointed out... have struggled to write anything here... not because there isn't anything to write about, but because there is! Nothing momentous, or life altering to anyone other than me!

As I said to someone today, my life is very ordinary and at the same time so surreal and bizarre, I really don't need to write fiction...

It's like the last 12 months have created a series of small, tiny events, each one inconsequential but each leading on to the next thing. Changing jobs, meeting particular people, being encouraged to communicate, starting this blog, discovering all of you wonderful people out there who engage me with your words and ideas, and respond to my own.

I have started to write several things recently about some of the things happening both to me, and around me and how they make me feel.

So many things flying through my head, I can barely pin a thought down, but at the same time a sense of clarity and understanding that I don't believe I've ever felt so acutely before.

It is as if a part of me is sitting outside and watching... this more than a little bit crazy girl trying to hold it together and pondering the how, when, where's and more importantly, the why's of her life.

And I wanted to share them, but have been reluctant to. Possibly because some of the people involved are frequent or infrequent readers here. Though I don't think that was the main reason, it's just that more recently, I've realised that this blog, at this point in time, my only real public outpourings for me as a writer, has changed... with meme's and Thursday 13s and other fun things, the reason why I started this in the first place has drifted away.

And I want to get back to that original purpose... the musings of a little, fat, funny girl waffling about life, love and all that jazz... but I'm strangely fearful... but of what?

So, bear with me please... I'm good, I know this is all a bit cryptic, but I'm fine... choir rehearsals are wonderful and joyous but the nerves are kicking in as we approach the concert dates, I'm doing some quilting, and reading and writing lots. Alternating between wakefulness and sleep, and a bit frail physically (week 5 of this awful flu/virus) but emotionally feeling really strong and positive.

I'm just processing some stuff prior to the next step... a bit like The Fool in the Tarot... wandering along gazing at the heavens, almost about to step over a cliff. Is that foolhardy, or is that brave? Will I fall or will I fly? Only time will tell....

And by the way, everything in life is writable about
if you have the outgoing guts to do it,
and the imagination to improvise.
The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. ~Sylvia Plath