In that time the media well and truly took over blogging. Twitter took over the globe then went into decline. The gloss came off the Obamarama apple. The Haitians got fucked. Everyone was pleasantly surprised by the worst bushfire season in history, likewise the GFC. Somehow Tony Abbott hoved into view.
My part-time job took over my life. I travelled through Oman, mysterious Sultanate of Arabia. I’ve spent much of the new year getting to the end of my tether and breaking balls left and centre. I’m putting up old friends in my spare room and being force-fed divine Japanese food every time I look a little peckish. My freelance business is going to seed and I couldn’t give a hoot. I read the greatest novel ever written, Moby Dick. I was told I needed to ‘get in touch with my feminine side again’.
Having a skim over some old posts, by and large it makes me cringe. I haven’t picked up a pen in ever so long, but know I can do much better. Although The Galloping Skirt is therapy, it still goes out into the wide world. It’s been up for nearly four years, and has been too much work to just drop it when I’ve had enough. But there needs to be less of the chaff and more of the wheat.
A good long break from this self-imposed ‘creativity’ perhaps happened at the right time. I needed to take a break from the inside of my own head. I wanted time out from what other people thought I should be doing. I needed to work my bum off. I had come to the end of a long season of bad housemates and bad decisions and needed to recoup. I stopped trying so hard to get words on the page, and stopped altogether.
With the Kyoto invasion underway, I’m now being treated like a queen. I don’t even go so far as to wash up a cup (and Keiko hasn’t even arrived yet – this is all from Mike, my American friend). This gives me time to roam and wander – to lounge around and read books, to potter in the garden, to talk nonsense into the wee hours and watch Battlestar Galactica.
In Japan they work like dogs, and highly structure every part of the day so as not to waste it. I’m re-introducing Mike to the concept of spare time, teaching him the meaning of composting food scraps and familiarising him with Aussie idiom with the educational materials to hand (The Adventures of Barry McKenzie). I suspect that this arrangement will work both ways. His observations are bizarre and hilarious. We are having a ball.
This post wasn’t about much, but it makes a start.