I started to panic recently that maybe I can only write about the bad things in life.

In truth, I probably wouldn’t have ever even thought about it had it not been for Boy, but, well, after nearly 5 years of friendship, he has this annoying way of voicing what I mainly like to keep loosely buried in amongst all the dusty filing in my mind, most probably somewhere between R for random thoughts and U for utter crap.

I think like a lot of bloggers I write my best stuff when the subject matter is dark and angst ridden (and I also notice that well written posts about sad stuff seem to attract more comments from blog readers than well written posts about happy stuff – think of this what you will). I find that my ability to articulate about heartache and despair is so much bigger, so much better than my ability to articulate about the good, the light and the beautiful.

Maybe that’s because I see my writing as some form of therapy. From the paper journals I kept as a young girl right the way through to this blog – I only ever seemed to find the need to write about things when they were bothering me.

Then again, maybe it’s because I haven’t really tried to write about the happy stuff.

Well maybe it’s time I did eh?

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