I've had so many ups and downs this month, and such intense experiences that you would think I'd feel compelled to log in and tell everyone. Bizarrely the exact opposite has happened. The bigger the event, the more intense the feelings, and the more I do, the less I feel inclined to write.
Is this a well known form of writers block? Or am I worried that writing about something exhilarating reduces it to the mundane?
I'm dying to tell you about my trip back home and the joy I felt sitting around a fire talking nonsense with my family. And about giggling and doing handstands underwater with a good friend's daughter. And my son's first hair cut. And his first day moving from the creche to the main nursery. And the frustrations and loneliness of trying to start up a business without the full support of people around me. And my visit to the Oracle to talk about growing up and what it means to be me. I want to tell you all about the feeling of flying through the air over a high jump at my audition. And about the way my guitar resonated after I played the last chord on my first ever live performance last weekend.
But I can't. Not yet.