I wouldn’t call it an update really

I planned to write an update. To say something about what I’ve been doing with my time and let all those that check this (I daresay there wouldn’t be many – I can’t imagine why there would be considering I never update) know that I’m still alive and was not, in fact, killed by my recent psychology assignment or caught in the crossfire when my work got robbed (I wasn’t present might I add).
But instead it turned into this angry, honest, open word vomit of nothing but angst and anger and cynicism and sadness.
And another word that I don’t choose to say. Another word that makes me feel menacing and defensive at the mere thought of it.
But the thing is that I realised that I’m not ready to be THAT honest. I’m not ready to lay my life out bare for you all to see the cracks and flaws more openly than they are already visible (and if you’re seeing what I’m seeing, they’re plenty visible and plenty repulsive).

Not yet.

So once again I find myself with absolutely nothing to say.

And unless you’re one particular person, I assure you this is not a comfortable silence.