I just flicked through my current journal, the one I take with me when I go anywhere I think I'll have time to write. Lately its been coming home with the same amount of blank pages as before I left. Why? If I love anything at all besides colour and family - its WORDS. Although I wish so badly that I could speak 10 languages, I feel blessed that I speak...know...feel the English language so fluently that I can play with the words: twist them; shape them in my mouth and spit them out with a certain spin; make them hilarious and witty and clever. Form them in such a way as to use them as a weapon or create the most powerful tool of all - pure expression - the ability to articulate a feeling, a frustration, a tenderness and use them to bind, to bond, to repair. I think of words as being such a large part of my life, but tonight a beribboned business card from a far away place fell from my journal and I realised I haven't written for 18 months. I haven't dear diary'd since Jan '08 - since I was in my (very late) 20's. Ordinarily travelling fuels my urge to write and words spill from pen to page. A year ago now, I went away for my 30th with my favourite people in the world. We stayed in the most incredible villa with the sweetest people looking after us who made most amazing home cooked meals. Still, I had no words (in any language). I came home with a Bali Cafe business card having written only this: "I wake with a headache and it stays with me all day until I take two smooth pills and it slips from my mind." I need to rediscover my soul. Stay tuned. Big changes are ahead. I'll know whether I've made the right decision if it sees me writing again.
Images by me except for images of pink wall & chair which is by Brie.