I've been literally brimming with words and phrases, and for some reason, my thoughts refuse to boil over. I like the title I came up with for this piece, but that's about as focused as I've been able to be. It's tortuous. I've never been like this; inspired but inhibited.
It's rather strange. Well, not really, I suppose. Before I began blogging, this is how I would be all the time. Inspired and in awe, but always internally. I would feel the magic, take in all the wonder and glow with the wonder of the world around. As I grew older, I guess the wonder began to fade and I grew tired of withholding all that magic. So I did what any gypsy would do, and I enthralled anyone who gave me the chance to do so.
I've had a good run, I really have.
I've enjoyed writing for you, for myself and writing for the sake of writing. I've lavished in the (moderate) amount of admiration, pondered upon the criticism and been humbled by both. However, I'm drained. Really, I am. I've been anonymously public for so long now that I feel a bit spent. I think it's around time I went back to being publicly private again. It's going to be difficult. Despite the fact I've decided to permanently stop blogging once I leave Kuwait, I still find myself snapping pictures of ridiculous things I see, thinking 'Oh! For the blog." It is going to take some time and conscience effort to rid myself of that mindset, but with time, as they say.
Counting down the days,