I had to re-adjust it

It wasn’t enough to re-start the blog from where I left off.  I had to re-adjust it; this is why I am beginning from scratch.  I spent some time re-reading over some of the posts, going all the way back to July when I had the idea.  I hated what I read.  Well, better said, I hated how it sounded.  I struggled a lot in 2014.  It feels almost selfish to even say it, because in some ways, 2014 was a wonderful year: I published a book, and this book took me to Belfast, and Slovenia, and also to Dublin, for readings, and it was exciting and wonderful and it made me happy, to have achieved this, to have accomplished this.   But I wasn’t prepared for how I was going to feel about it, once it was all said and done.  This book, full of seven years of my life – of how my heart and body have behaved these last seven years – is beautiful, to me.  Holding it in my hand, when I think about writing, both the writing that I did to make the book, and the writing that will come now that the book is finished, it is a reminder that I can do much when I set my mind, commit my whole body to something.   This is exciting to me.   But, I felt sad.  Because in as much as the book is evidence of me – stubborn, passionate, uncompromising me – making something happen, I spent the better part of 2014 wondering about whether or not I was right (or had the right) to write what I had written, to have published it at all.  (I’ve come out of that debate with myself – and the short answer is, yes, I was right, and I had the right.  Yes.  Yes.)   The fact that this lady agrees with me helps – it is good to have an ally.

But, yes, I was sad – it was all over the blog, and I hated it.  I didn’t want that.  What I wanted was a space to explore the collection I had just published.  I love writing, and I love talking about writing,  and being part of conversations where other people talk about writing.  This kind of shit really excites me.  The last thing I wanted was to feel miserable, to record that - and it all just felt miserable to me.  So I scrapped it.  I decided to start again.  And so here I am – and as for where that is, it is 4 days away from a small dinner party – very small in fact, just me and two dear friends - with a menu inspired by the poem You Cannot Tell Me.   More on this very special first dinner very soon.  For now, I am just going to leave this here, a sign of well-adjusted re-adjustment (furthermore, she’s just lovely, and that is reason enough).