I’m desperate to get back into blogging. Or at least getting to the point where I can type a few sentences into my word processor that make some of vague point, without vehemently hitting the backspace button until there is nothing but a blank page staring back at me. It’s very odd, if I’m honest. I presumed that having a clear mind would leave more room for ideas, an open space for creativity and for my mind to run wild. I’m unusually happy, ecstatically so, on a daily basis. After having a turbulent start to the year, everything seems to have settled into place, and almost sickeningly so. I feel like I’m living in a Disney fairyland of sparkles and rainbows. Only this is the North London version; which is filled with very British pubs, hipster coffee shops and farmers’ markets that feature ten different types of aubergine. My kind of dreamland. Strangely, when I have had a lot more on my mind I have been more interested in patching together some sort of opinion piece; or a smattering of sentences that summed up my life, however tragic, at the time. Is it because writing is a kind of escapism? Probably. So, for the time being I’m going to fill my head with nonsense from Cosmopolitan and hope I get inspired. If you stick around, I might be able to tell you all about the generation of ketamine-obsessed millennials. Actually, that’s one of the better articles. I’ll pick a more ridiculous page.
NJW 