All about the self

An old friend was asking me this morning whether I wrote self indulgent fluff in my blog and I had to confess that a lot of the time I did. But there were times when I tried to make some kind of point, talking about what mattered not just to me, but to a lot of people like me and whom I know. On the other hand, isn’t a blog all about self expression? For me, it is.

But what he said started me off on the introspection route. I had been working too hard and worrying too much over the last year and needed time out. But when, where and doing what? After much cogitation, I made my decision. It would be all about self-indulgence, self-satisfaction, self-evaluation. I would take a small holiday in a place that needed no adjusting to, no exploring, no distractions. So it would be home, where I am most comfortable, where I can wander about in the rattiest of clothes (that even my boss and my father would not approve of), with no jewellery, no makeup, no frills, furbelows or pretences. I would have father and kitten to talk to and fight with, to yell at – or bite – me, to love me and to sit with in quiet. And no thoughts of work, of deadlines, of page making or office politics to stress about.

That decided on, I started making a list of what I would do, first off, catch up with sleep. I am not a balanced sleeper at all – sometimes I crash out too early and wake up long before I should; oftentimes I go to bed late and get up before I need to, tossing, turning and generally being miserable about myself and my state of peace and rest. And sometimes I would sit up on my bedroom window and stare blankly out at the traffic, at the cloud-obscured moon, at the cat who prowled through the plants downstairs in the parking lot of our apartment block. And once in a rare while I would seriously consider calling a friend who guarantees me a soothing lullaby and some easy, affectionate chatter that never fails to put my scattered mind in order enough to rest.

But more, it will be a few days of pure sybaritic luxury for me, I promise myself, never mind that I seem to have forgotten how to do nothing. I have a pile of books I want to read and a huge mess of clothes that I have to sort through and take decisions about the fate of, if I may split an infinitive or two (hey, boss, I am learning something from you!)! I have toenails to paint in outrageous colours and those outrageous colours to buy before I can do so. And I have a kitten to play with, a father to discuss matters of seriousness with and some cooking to do that is not subsistence food. A cake, perhaps, some cookies, a Christmas pudding, maybe even a nice fat capon?

More than all this, the true self indulgence will come with time out from routine. No rushing through mail to get to editing content for the pages I work on. No sitting in editorial meetings trying to keep awake and aware and responsive. No wondering why traffic is slower and heavier than usual driving to or from work. And no battling to maintain the always-precarious balance between what I do for a living, what I do to keep alive and what keeps me alive – which are three different aspects of life, if you really think about it.

So, yes, a blog for me is indeed self-indulgent. It lets me talk about what is in my head, what I am about perhaps. And if people read it, maybe someone somewhere will know something about me. Which could be more than I know about myself.