The End

This blog...for a lot of reasons, it's time for it to go. Writing in it hasn't felt good, as of late, on the rare occasions when it's happened. Ellen and I had a conversation tonight about obsessive reflection and knowing oneself as a form of self-destruction. This on the heels of a conversation with my mother several weeks back in which she said, bluntly and firmly as only a mother can, "you know Sarah, I think you'd be a whole lot happier if you didn't think so much." Not thinking so much is going to be a lifelong project for me, but not writing publicly about that thinking is a small way in which I can start washing the bad taste of the perpetuation of it out of my mouth.

Being in the social services world, now, I have a lot of conversations about self-care. Supposedly, writing is one of my main self-care activities. And it is, sometimes. In some ways. But writing in a blog feels gross right now. It feels gross and self-exploitative and sometimes exploitative of others, and draining, and vapid. Writing can easily jump the line from self-care to self-harm and back again, depending on the context, for me. Many creative people abuse and feel abused by their art forms in this way. We are in visceral relationships with our words, paints, songs.

In any case - I won't drag on. As all blogs come to ends, so must this one - but I am not going to write in public space for a while. It doesn't feel like the right thing to be doing. I've been corresponding in spurts this fall, also journaling, and private-space writing feels much more sustainable and healthy at the moment. I'm on the internet in other ways that involve less verbal processing. Tumblr I have been finding interesting. Twitter. Facebook, of course. My Google Reader Shared Items. Flickr. Youtube. Quite wired.

It's been a pleasure, readers.

x
S