Postcards from the Edge

I haven’t been here lately.

“Here” isn’t here at this blog, or here in town. It’s more like I haven’t been the person who used to update this blog or write you emails or run about organising writer events. It would appear that whatever I was excited about just months ago is of complete and utter disinterest to me right now. This comes as little surprise; most things are temporary to me anyway.

What did come as a surprise are drastic changes to things that I have accepted as permanent fixtures. Things that you might mention when asked to talk about yourself. Here’s a few things off the top of my head:

Then: Happy at being a lazy lump.
Now: Not happy unless a muscle somewhere is aching from being worked.

Then: Can’t stand cinnamon.
Now: Still not crazy about it, but I keep finding it in stuff I order.

Then: Shrivel up and die when asked to speak in front of an audience.
Now: No big deal. Did I ever mention winning second place for public speaking in the office PR seminar?

Then: Would happily drown in books.
Now: I still selectively inhale certain books, but I’ve otherwise lost interest in reading. 

Then: I live to write.
Now: There are a great many other things I’d rather be doing.

So what is there left for me to talk about? What I ate today? Who cares, really.

I think the age of information overload have caused me to start withholding information. The things that rock my world right now are my little secrets, and it’s a rather refreshing change to know that anyone who care to stalk doesn’t know what I did or where I ate the last few months. I’m not in the mood to share.