Words on a page

I am upset with myself for missing two days of postings (a first). But then I have to ask myself, does it really matter? Who is actually reading this blog? Nobody. Will I ever go back, read the entries again, and take something new away from the experience? I don't know.

"But when the self speaks to the self, who is speaking? The entombed soul, the spirit driven in, in, in to the central catacomb; the self that took the veil and left the world -- a coward perhaps, yet somehow beautiful, as it flits with its lantern restlessly up and down the dark corridors."

~Virginia Woolf

I feel like I am speaking to myself, carrying on a causal, empty conversation for the sake of filling up blank space. I am the drifting spirit, the coward, trapped in a dark place.