I’ve been busier than normal at work recently, which means I’ve updated my blogs (the other, sports-based one is here) much less frequently over the past few weeks. There’s nothing particularly unusual about that; there are always periods when I go into blog silence for a while, either because of workload or simply because I don’t have anything in particular to say.
The thing is – and I’m feeling this more than usual right now – when I’m not blogging, I really miss it. I mean, I don’t crave it in an I’m-addicted-and-I-need-my-fix sort of way; it’s more of a nagging itch, a desire to put fingers to keyboard and put some tangible and permanent form to whatever is foremost in my thoughts at that moment in time.
And, let’s put this into context, it’s not an activity which takes up an overwhelming portion of my time – as of yesterday, I had posted 119 times across my two blogs in 2009 – slightly more than once every three days – which is hardly a prolific rate of output. In an average week I spend no more than a couple of hours – that’s about one episode of X Factor or Strictly Come Dancing – blogging, which doesn’t seem excessive, does it?
I’ve previously written my thoughts about why I blog, and the reasons I gave there are still valid: it’s more about the self-satisfaction I get from writing a piece than it is about how widely it is read and appreciated, and it’s a productive way to blow off steam for a classic introvert like myself, who naturally prefers writing to something more extroverted like (as my colleague A does) performing on stage.
The real point is: blogging makes me happy; it’s good for my soul. A bit like chicken soup. And like that hearty dish, I’m sure many people will consider what I write to be relatively bland, but that’s fine because the only thing it needs to do is make me feel good. And that it does.