It has been a couple of years since I have given this blog any real attention. So much has happened I wouldn't even know where to start, there is always that period in the moment when it feels like nothing else will ever matter more than it, but then it passes.
I gave up writing because I was busy in other areas of my life, I hid the posts which painted me not in the best light and gave away the game that I wasn't a successful up and comer, career focused and productive. Work had literally become my life.
I won't bore anyone with a recap of what the last two years have brought in detail but I will summarise them as best I can.
I turned 30
I moved in with a Significant other.
I turned 31
I broke up with my not so significant other
I did all this working 50-60 hour weeks.
Yep, I have been busy.
After the break up I turned what was our home into my little nest, I added furniture and decoration to my taste and I made the place feel exactly how I always wanted my home to feel. Eclectic, abstract but neat. None of the furniture matches, the appliances are old but its is clean and comfortable and I just enjoy being there. I spend a lot of time since turning 30 just hanging out there alone.
But this weekend I found myself at a loss, I had no plans, no one to see and nothing to do. Sure, I could have taken some time to relax but it wasn't what I was yearning for. What did I normally do on a Saturday afternoon?
If I ever felt lonely what happened before I turned 30, where did I go and who did I see?
Then it hit me, in living alone and working so much I had let myself get isolated. I had let myself get lazy. I had my fortress and I would get home on a Friday night and hide myself away for an entire weekend, I didn't read or write, I didn't create, I just hid. The odd night out being the only thing to puncture that routine.
The time was not even being spent productively, in the past I could read 2-4 books in a week easily. I spent very little time in front of the television. Every now and then I would have to have a clear out of books to make room for the number of them I was bringing home every week from second hand shops and thrift stores.
I would sit and listen to music for hours in the dark, I would seek out new artists and immerse myself in back catalogues before moving onto the next.
Writing. I have stopped writing, where as I used to just be constantly writing, either here in this forum or in journals or throw away pages. Almost like a form of self help or therapy, I would write about how my life was and how it felt and it would make all my problems seem better.
I would fit in socialising around all this, never going weeks without seeing friends like how it is now.
But I am not blaming anyone else. I accept that it is me that has stopped making the effort. I have stepped away from normal life and isolated myself so much that all I am right now is a full time job and not much else.