Home

I'm starting to write at midnight with my family asleep in the next room and it all feels very familiar. As you're all probably aware, I haven't written in a while. No, not even stuff for myself, just me, that I've kept away from you all. Well, there is the occasional Goodreads review but does that really count? No, I didn't think so. Anyway, I've been actively trying to ignore the existence of this blog, passively letting it bury itself in the dredges that are anything but the top half of the page in Google search results for my name. Why, you ask? It started with distraction. Everything else in life grew more important. Other hobbies stepped in and demanded attention. I felt like I was spending too much time whining on my blog. A brief glance and you'd know my best writing was always when I was not feeling my happiest. I was making good art as Mr.Gaiman suggested but I didn't think it wise to let negativity fester in the artificial eternity we've created that is the cloud. So writing faded away. I also didn't want people who barely know me getting to read my innermost secrets by just Googling for me. It just felt very.... intrusive.

But this feels so natural, so organic. And looking back I'm not sure I'm any happier now than when I let my negativity supposedly fester, so I wonder why I ever stopped writing in the first place. Don't get me wrong, I'm exceptionally happy with life. But the day to day melancholia/boredom (Are they the same? They must be) remains.

So. Here I am.

I've been contemplating the meaning of home for a while now. And trying to decide where that is for me. And this feels like it. This act of writing at midnight with loved ones asleep but near by feels like it. And I'll take that. It plays well with my current theory that home for me will be multiple places and I'll just have to embrace it. So I'll take it. And I'll write my story by midnights.

How have you been?