There are a plethora of blogs on the internet along the same lines as mine, whose owners have a far greater command of the english language than I, for whom eloquence poses no great challenge. They appear to have an intrinsic ability to convey emotion and imagery with an effortless ease.
I don’t have that.
My ramblings are, at best, disjointed and horribly disorganised.
Somewhere between here *taps noggin(Oooooo, hollow!)*….and there *glares at computer screen* the thoughts seem to get lost, words disappear into cracks in the ether and everything becomes…..foggy.

Years of taking anti-depressants(thankfully now no longer required) and an array of painkillers(which are still a part of my daily life) have dulled the senses;my memory is non-existent, thought processes have slowed to a crawl. I often have to sit scanning through a thesaurus just so I don’t make repetitive use of a phrase or word, because the ability for the brain to magically seek out the relevant words and present them to me in order to put them down here is just not there. For this reason, writing can be an excruciating process, the ability to effectively articulate somewhat stunted. You’ll find no big words here, tis too much of an effort to place them correctly in amongst the text. My writings generally meander aimlessly along a not so clear pathway, occasionally disappearing into the distance, only to reappear, suddenly well defined, during a rare moment of clarity.

Many posts do not get published, although that is for a variety of reasons, not just because I believe them unworthy of publishing. Trying to weigh up just how much of myself to share can be tricky also…..the blog has a purpose afterall, so it would be pointless to censor everything that appears here, yet sometimes I just feel that a post reveals too much, and it gets scrapped;the process of having written it down in the first place catharsis enough.

Although, ultimately, I write the blog for myself, I do acknowledge that others may, on occasion, read it too, and it’s for this reason that I sit, sometimes for hours, and consider every damn word, to the point of obsession, that makes the cut.
The point of all of this is that there really is no point;just me, sitting here, with a handful of fragile musings trying to come together to form a discernible shape, as is often the case when I feel so inspired.

And where did this inspiration come from this time?
3 simple words.

Smart. Articulate. Funny.

I don’t see any of those qualities here in this, my teeny tiny space on the world wide web, but maybe, instead of questioning it, I should gracefully accept that someone else does, and be a touch more humble about it.