Time To Go

I'm thinking of moving on. Getting rid of this blog and my other equally popular one Talk TV, which isn't about the highs and lows of being a transvestite. If it had been it may have really sparked some interest. A small but dedicated following! (Not much to ask).

It's not that I have anything against the idea of writing. In fact when I'm "in the zone" I really enjoy it. But blogging has NOT been what I was expecting, nay hoping, for.

My life's changed dramatically in the last two months so I don't even know if I want to continue writing under the loose headings I had in mind for either blog. There's been events in those past two months where I thought I could write something but if I didn't do it then and there it seemed to lose its meaning to me. So really now I'm just trying to think of a way to express myself that I find satisfying.

Write Where It Hurts

Just so you know I wrote this a while ago possibly on a tram on the way home from work of a morning. Also I was inspired by the antisocial teen cartoon Daria. (For those of you not in the know). 

Forget the talking cure or I don't like the talking cure. I much prefer the writing cure. I hate talking about myself but I don't mind writing about myself. Either way I usually feel like I can't accurately explain how I feel.
I notice I try to put some context in my blog writing but feel the detail gets boring. It has that, "You had to be there" feeling without inspiring envy that you weren't.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who writes like that, especially in the bloggersphere. And if I was less hard on myself I'd see there is something enjoyable and vicarious in reading good blogs. I thought I'd be more popular than this. And it shits me that I'm not. After all the praise I've had about my writing from teachers and friends. Dear Blog, I expected way too much from you.
Sex sells, so I tried sexing it up, hence this second blog. But maybe I need to keep it real; write where it hurts.
I have thought about going back to therapy and Leo. I'm worried about not being able to get back in and that's putting me off a bit. Silly I know. I'll get through that then worry it'll be exactly the same with me clamming up and painfully sobbing. So why bother you may ask? Well I know I'm not happy with myself or my life. Leo knows it too, "It can be better Amy." he sounded convinced and sincere even to my cynical ears.