Why, why is it that every time I get involved with someone I end up neglecting my blog?
In the bad old days when greylynnsinglesclub was a record of the sordid activity that calls itself dating, it made sense to stop blogging when I was in a relationship because I had no desire to share the private and personal details of a genuinely intimate thing with random readers. These days the blog is a much broader rant about gender politics with snippets of what's happening leading up to the election, and there's a lot to say, a lot I don't mind saying, and yet I seem not to be.
Part of the problem is time. However I have an idea that there are some alternative explanations which bear some scrutiny.
I am the woman that sleep forgot. I'm a stupidly light sleeper and at the moment, while I become accustomed to doing this next to a large, wriggling, occasional snore-fest, everything is just slightly fally-aparty. As I type, my boyfriend (ancient but decidedly new to me) is currently comatose, having woken up, programmed his ass off for an hour, cured his own insomnia and returned to the land of nod. I, on the other hand, gave up the idea of dormancy about an hour ago when he switched on the light, having already been awake for a good 60+ minutes. I feel churlish in writing this - this is the same boyfriend who's exhausted because he graciously spent the last three nights on the sofa (his sofa) so I could get a reasonable sleep (THREE NIGHTS dear reader). But tomorrow - filled with a selection of work - is already here, and I know the rest of it is going to be crappy.
Unsurprisingly under the circumstances, weeknights typically see me arrive home after nine-plus hours of paid work in a zombified state, stare stupidly at the TV for a while, worry about all the other work that isn't getting done, lament my dropping blog stats, eat and then fall into a fitful slumber, only to repeat the cycle the next day. I hardly have the brain to read a blog let alone write one. Granted- it's not always quite this bad - but honestly! I've tried going back to my place alone, and this is definitely the sensible option, one I should make more use of, but where's the fun in that? His place means wriggling, snoring, traffic noise, and street lights, but is free of flatmates, close to work and has a fantastic shower. Plus it has him.
Light sleepers of the blogosphere - lend me your thoughts. What work-arounds to my conundrum have you discovered?
In other news, my mother had a very successful surgery and is well into the recovery phase. Just prior to going under the knife she bought herself a three-litre Skyline which is possibly more likely to shorten her life than the cancer she had removed.
And I'm now blogging occasionally at aucklandista.com after a kind invitation from Joanna. Pop over and have a look should you so desire.