good evening, dear reader.  a very happy new year to you.

i have been attempting to blog for the past six hours.

well…  that’s not strictly true.  i started attepting to blog six or so hours ago, but sadly, i have been thwarted by my stupid computer once again.  oh, yes – and then Sherlock happened.  oh. my. god. i love that programme.  absolutely mesmerising.  and Benedict Cumberbatch?  why, yes.  yes i most definitely would.  rawr.


the original post was going to be sort of new year-ish.  sort of.  see, i’ve abandoned this blog, as you may or may not be aware, for the last month.  well…  not abandoned.  more…  left it to its own devices and hoped it didn’t get itself into trouble.

which of course it didn’t since it is, like me, essentially very boring.  somehow, though, i seem to have a whopping 12 followers now.  hello, everyone! *waves*  this is a bit of an odd situation, if i’m honest.  suddenly, i know that people will at least get an email when i make a new post.  so it kind of immediately puts pressure on me to write something interesting.  or…  well, it would… except most of those following also know me on Twitter, and if y’all don’t know what i’m like by now, well…  you’ve clearly not been paying attention.  for which i wouldn’t blame you. 😉

but i was thinking about that this afternoon, as i was doing some housework.  god, how i loathe housework! i have come to the realisation that i am a terrible listener, since i love the sound of my own voice.  i don’t know why that should be, as on a sort of meta level, i’m quite aware of how dull i am.  i’m not really sure why this should be, but i have a theory:

i have a bad case of internal monologues.

really.  all the fucking time.  it’s chronic.  and i’m not entirely sure why i thought i started blogging in the first place, but i think that, whatever my conscious reasons at the time, the chronic IM was a big subconscious reason.  just to get the fucking things out of my head.  so, dear reader, i will continue to muck my brain out on here, and i hope you will forgive me.  think of it as Care In The Blogging Community, or somesuch other worthy cause.  and i won’t hold it against you if you unfollow.

i was originally thinking about making this a resolutions post, it being new year, and all.  specifically, i was thinking about not making them.  because i have learned this is a fruitless exercise.  i could resolve to blog more often, or about more interesting stuff.  but i don’t think deeply about anything – i don’t have the capacity.  my mind is like a butterfly – insubstantial and easily crushed.  and i shan’t resolve to write more often.  for pretty much the same reason.  but this time, it’s my muse, not my mind. and i know myself well enough by now to be 100% certain that the second i resolve to do something (no matter what time of year it may be), i immediately want/need to do exactly the opposite.  if i want it to work, i have to sort of have a vague notion if what i want to happen, and then just keep it in the corner of my mind’s eye, almost forgotten, but still there.  like a ghost.

so – no resolutions.

but i was also thinking about poetry.  now, i will be the first to admit that i know less about poetry than a fish does about the Sahara desert, and i do not ever, ever expect any that i write to be anything less than laughable and embarassing.  and yet…  and yet…  i enjoy it, sometimes.  there are times when i get this itch, and poetry/prosetry/doggerel is the only way to scratch it.  i would be tempted to put it down to laziness (poems can be as short as you want, afer all… ;), but i don’t think that’s quite it.

you see, poems can be (seemingly) anything that you want them to be.  if you ignore the formal poetic rules, which i invariably do since i’m almost completely ignorant of them, you can be almost free.  almost.  when it comes down to it, the words can be what they need to be – what i need them to be – and it can be very satisfying.  and, y’know, i’d sort of like to write more.

but here’s the rub:  other people’s poems rarely interest me.  in fact, they regularly range from boring to completely incomprehensible.  sometimes they spark something so intangible in me that i wriggle and squirm, yet can never quite reach the meaning.  and that makes me want to scream in frustration.  because poetry is often intensely personal.  and i get that.  it’s just that i don’t have a door or a window, or any frame of reference for what was going on in this person’s head when they wrote what they wrote, or why they wrote it.  it’s like trying to interpret someone else’s dreams; difficult and, ultimately pointless, since whatever meaning is in there is assigned by the unique pathways of that individual’s mind.  and no-one thinks the same way.  no-one.  i think that’s a wonderful and beautiful thing, but not usually condusive to enjoying other peoples poetry.

so i may or may not write more “poetry” in 2012.

but if i do, i apologise for being annoying and boring.

in fact, let’s just make it a blanket apology for everything, shall we? and then i won’t feel quite so bad if i muck out a little more regularly. 😉