Involved

          I've been feeling a little crazy of late. Different parts of my personality are coming to light, and it's sort of weirding me out.
          But, in all, life in recent days has been good. New happinesses, new worries, new weather. The days are lengthening, and my mood keeps lifting. I'm always surprised, come springtime, how everything improves with daylight. My seasonal affective is pretty insidious - I never feel obviously terrible, but the arrival of warmer, brighter weather makes me realize how low I get midwinter.

          I've been rereading my travel blog from London. I haven't written that way in a while. You know. Well. And eloquent and simple.
          Mostly I've been too tired to put too much effort into writing, which is silly, seeing as writing is one of the only things I can seriously see myself doing for a living. It's a tricky one, I guess.
          Here's what it is: I haven't written anything that I feel like is of interest to anyone other than myself. Writing that is purely self-indulgent is dull. I feel self-indulgent. Even this post exists, from what I can tell, mostly on the inside of my own skull.
          Lately, I've been feeling like blogs are just forms of ego-stroking. Well, they are, but it's never really bothered me. People (myself included) write things, hoping to be agreed with, applauded, challenged, responded to in some way. It proves interaction. One time, I received displeased emails over a column I'd written for the school newspaper. It was infuriating and gratifying at once - proof that people read what I write and care what I think. Which is a terribly narcissistic thing to say, I know. But, I guess it's a fact of life that writers have to be at least a little self-involved.


          Oh, okay, falling asleep at the keyboard. Let's call it a night.