It may sound strange, but there is a feeling of guilt or bad conscience in neglecting your own blog. It seems strange, because after all why should you feel in any way indebted to a virtual place, even if you might consider it a virtual part of yourself?
Why have a bad conscience, similar to the feeling of guilt you have when you realize you've been neglecting a friendship? Is it because writing here is somehow connected with the commitment to an (imagined or factual) reader - and thus a person - somewhere out there? Or is it simply because you somehow made a promise to yourself (even though it might have been an unconscious one at the time) by engaging to this kind of regular writing activity, a promise you seem to break when failing to write regularly here?
Curiously enough though, when thinking about the reasons why you don't write, what comes to your mind is not the lack of things to write about, but on the contrary: too many things to write about. It is as if, paradoxically, the more that is going on in your life, the less you seem to be able to write about it here. Suddenly you remember Proust, and the amazing fact that he shut himself up in a dark room for nearly the 20 years of his remaining life to write about the previous 20 years of his life lived in society.
Without wanting to compare yourself with Proust in any way, it seems striking that there must be something about writing and living, a mutual exclusion if you will. Maybe this is the best argument that writing really is a kind of living - and that this might be the reason why you can't do both at the same time.
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