This post is intentionally meta

I want to write more, and the only way to do that is to start typing. I’ve been reading old posts, rediscovering happy memories and half-way decent writing. It’s nice to have this archive to look back on, and I think so far I’ve painted a fair picture of the good and bad bits.

I’d like to carry on with the documentation, but the impetus has gone. I used to have ideas queuing up in my head, waiting for me to give them words. Now I have to trawl my brain for suitable topics. There are two things that have probably contributed to this change.

One is facebook. When I write stuff now it goes up there and I don’t tend to cross-post (maybe I should?). But I wonder whether sticking to a forum that includes captive family members (many of them minors) means I pull my punches and put edgier topics aside. Maybe, but at quite a subconscious level if so, because it’s not even like there are dark and stormy things I mean to write about but don’t find the time to address.

Hence the other reason; I think my life is just pretty boring these days. Our poly relationship functions smoothly, I’m not scared of getting married, or moving to a new country. I’m not depressed, and I’m no longer terrified of being a mother. I just am. I do lots of things that make me happy without challenging me – yoga, work, bike rides with Isaac. None of it warrants much examination.

That said, I think motherhood had wrought some changes, and I’m struggling to put my finger on how and why. Maybe there’s some meat there. Why did it take 32 years and a son to call myself a feminist? How can I have so much money compared to most of the world and still sometimes feel poor?  The emergence of my social conscious probably does warrant examination, but even that doesn’t feel like it would be interesting to write about.

Maybe I should stick to porn.

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