I'm tongue-tied, or finger-fumbled, or silenced. It was a temper tantrum that was probably inevitable, which does not detract from it being unseemly and ungracious. All readers are owed an apology.
I am sorry, and thank you for your patience.
I wish it was a true apology, in that it is one indicative of resolution and change, but I suspect it will only be an acknowledgement of past trespasses. My conduct was wrong, and I have no doubt I shall commit such selfish crimes again, and again, and again.
A month without being able to blog, even if I would not have blogged in that time, was, to put it simply, fucking horrible. For better or worse it is a coping mechanism, and for better or worse it is no longer purely my space. I will have to learn to be more discriminatory in what I do and do not share, and I can only hope I learn faster than I make mistakes.
This little voice I have has grown so much rust in that month. This post was impossible to start.
It seemed prime opportunity for an overhaul, although 'overhaul' is perhaps too strong a word. The bulk of the chaff and faff has been removed from the archives, although there is still a great amount of dross present purely on account of amusement value.
The nearer to the present the posts, the harder to decide whether to axe or keep. I spent a good while pondering whether to take down the posts that prompted the last meltdown. They're still visible for all to see. Some badly articulated notions of accountability and honesty. This blog has a long tail of psychological and emotional history, and I have no need for it to define my online presence. My history is my own. But it isn't history yet.
I am sorry, and thank you for your patience.
I wish it was a true apology, in that it is one indicative of resolution and change, but I suspect it will only be an acknowledgement of past trespasses. My conduct was wrong, and I have no doubt I shall commit such selfish crimes again, and again, and again.
A month without being able to blog, even if I would not have blogged in that time, was, to put it simply, fucking horrible. For better or worse it is a coping mechanism, and for better or worse it is no longer purely my space. I will have to learn to be more discriminatory in what I do and do not share, and I can only hope I learn faster than I make mistakes.
This little voice I have has grown so much rust in that month. This post was impossible to start.
It seemed prime opportunity for an overhaul, although 'overhaul' is perhaps too strong a word. The bulk of the chaff and faff has been removed from the archives, although there is still a great amount of dross present purely on account of amusement value.
The nearer to the present the posts, the harder to decide whether to axe or keep. I spent a good while pondering whether to take down the posts that prompted the last meltdown. They're still visible for all to see. Some badly articulated notions of accountability and honesty. This blog has a long tail of psychological and emotional history, and I have no need for it to define my online presence. My history is my own. But it isn't history yet.
