I was talking about personal blogs with someone the other day, and I tried to explain the reason for mine. The most compelling reason I’ve found, which I probably didn’t express well at the time, is that there are lots of little moments in life which are special and significant and merit recording. And that’s determined by the blogger, not the reader – if I’m writing to a reader, it’s not to a real one. The value of this, for me, is that I have my own archive of little moments. It’s public, but really it’s for me.
I think what I said at the time was, I know I’ve changed over the last few years, but I couldn’t say how, because I’ve lost track of every Hetty apart from this one. I probably wasn’t so different a few years ago, but between now and then there are many significant memories – endings and beginnings. First-times of things which now to me are normal. That’s the real distance between me and her.
You can’t often tell what beginnings and endings are significant while they’re happening, but I know that my life recently has had some big ones, and the next two weeks have some more. On Tuesday, I’m moving to London. Monthly rent, matching towels, homegrown vegetables. The Monday after that, I’m starting my first job. I’ll be taking the Tube to work, checking my Blackberry at lunchtime. Probably buying an iron. In a few months’ time, perhaps, the novelty will wear off.
I know that beginnings like these are significant. But something else which I’ll record, in hope, is that I’ve met someone who could be significant too. I know I’ve had this hope before. I also know that my butterflies are partly a corollary of ridiculously bad timing, so that, although we’ve been an us for four and a half weeks, it’s been four since I last saw him. Three more and he’ll be coming to London to see me. The level of anticipation is ridiculous and difficult to see through. Nothing is settled. I don’t know yet what words to use about us. All I know is, I spoke to him today for the first time in three weeks and all the time I was looking for a catch, for hints that he wasn’t who I’d thought. I didn’t find them. He is the way that he was before. To my relief, so am I.