The Opposite Of Frequent

Feathers keep falling into my flat from the ledge by my skylight where the pigeons sit in the sun. I like the way they float down and found it almost serene until I remembered how disease-ridden pigeons are.

Also happening outside my window: lots of noisy construction. They're drilling right now. We still get transient guests in the building, using a flat for just a week or a weekend. One of them stole my neighbour's bike when they left. These young souls were in town for a wedding and we said hello out of the window.

Why I choose this to share, of all the things that have happened in the eight weeks since I last posted, I'm not sure. Perchance to highlight how trivial blogging can be? If I told you everything that's happened, it would take me eight weeks to write!

I like having this outlet but when you start to find it a chore to post frequently, as I have, it's a bit like the tail wagging the dog. National Novel Writing Month is on the horizon and Shig has convinced me to take part this year. I hope to improve my writing style because I've become bored with the stock turns of phrase that I use here all the time. I've been reading more, because there's something unhealthy about reading your own words more than anyone else's. I'd love to (ultimately) have something more concrete than an online diary to show for all the time I spend writing.

This blog ain't dead. It's still twitching and medics are en route. Thanks for all the messages about it.