And by writing, I mean for myself. Not for the job, or a client. Just me.
Writing in an old diary I've had since I was 8. Rarely used, yet packed full of memories of things better forgotten. I was a sad little kid. Confused little adult. But the diary has served its purpose through these 11 years, and is somewhat serving it again. I never have to worry about anyone going through it and learning how nuts I am, because no one can read my handwriting. Score one for the lefties.
I'm also writing songs again, this time using my extremely limited guitar abilities. Will anyone ever hear them? Not likely. But Daisy is a pretty good audience member. I also keep bugging a hometown friend of mine to move to Toronto and start a band with me, since every band should have at least one actual musician. He wants to name it "As Good As It Goetz". Instead, I've dubbed it "Go Folk Yourself".
It will never actually exist, but names are still important in fake plans.
Lastly, I've been writing long-winded posts on here that are saved and then left unpublished, because it's just better that way. There's a good chance this will be one of them. And if it's not, that means I was feeling more open than I tend to. That, and confusing people is sometimes a hobby of mine. Like walking into walls, and making up words.
I used to write fiction; I always swore I'd be an author, but I stopped bothering when I started freelancing in 2007. I have short stories and half-finished novels hidden around my apartment. I doubt I'll ever start that again, to be honest.
But writing otherwise, just for me.... is something. And I'll take it.