The end. And where we start from.

I keep thinking about what I want to come here to say. I used to blog fairly regularly. Never every day, but a few times a week. And then this year, it's been almost not at all. Nearly a month since I posted last, and only two posts all of last month.

And some of that is the feeling that I'm on the internet all the time, babbling away on twitter and posting things on tumblr and what do I have left over to say, anyway? Like, maybe I shouldn't be talking here unless there's something important, which is kind of ridiculous, because this is my blog, and I'm the person who decides what gets said here (or not) and when. But there you go.

And some of it was finishing a book which was written in a voice that is very different to the tone of the blog, and when I was finishing it, it felt like that was the only voice left in my head. I could barely even talk to my friends, because all the words I could think of were words for the book.

And some of it was, my God, this was a tough winter. Maybe you don't understand why I'm saying that now, now when it's May, and quite thoroughly spring, but let me tell you that it was snowing last week. Even here, that doesn't happen, and there was this sense of being out of time and elsewhere, and a longing for green and warmth and light. And it was a tough winter personally, and for people I loved. And those aren't the sort of things we are supposed to talk about, you know? No one wants to read about your troubles. Don't whine.

I am so envious (speaking of thoughts and feelings we're not supposed to discuss) of the people who seem (because it is always seem, there is always a filter) able to say anything anywhere. To speak, without worrying about what people will think, and say. Or to worry about it, and have the ability to say, fuck you, and speak anyway.

And so here I am. And it's spring, I think. And I've started a new book, and one of the things that matters very much in it is who gets to speak, and about what, and how seriously are they taken when they do.

So maybe I'll stop worrying so much, and talk. Or maybe I'll keep silent, but the silence will be mine.