Contrary to popular belief, I am not a sex blogger. Even if it is what people (now) know me best for, and how people introduce me. “Hey this is my friend Abi the sex blogger!” *insert awkward Abi face here* I used to dispute this introduction until it happened just last Wednesday and my girl said, “But you haven’t written about love in a long time”. Instead of retorting, I gave her the touché look then went about finishing my glass of malbec.
Obviously, I’ve hit some sort of mental roadblock in regards to blogging about what I used to blog about best. Even when I do write about love, my heart just isn’t in it. You may not notice, but I know this. While it’s true that I simply just haven’t found a story worth telling lately, I’m not so sure I would be so willing to share it even if I did. Feelings are fucking scary, and writing about them only makes them the boogey-man incarnate.
Somewhere between oversharing and not caring at all, it started to feel unnatural for me to write about the things that happen most naturally like falling in love, and heartache. Don’t get it twisted. What I do write about is still 100% real. It’s just that the things that I 100% feel, I can’t seem to write about.