Over the last few weeks I have been spending a lot of time alone – mostly in the mornings. Being the sleepy boy that I am, I have to have my own ways to wake up (I’ve noticed that if I don’t I will simply skip entire mornings). Following a tip from a friend, I’ve found the best way to do so is to talk myself awake.

I’m aware, when I monologue in the mornings, that nobody but God is listening. There’s no response, and no feedback. If I’m talking to an invisible audience, then I fully know that they’re not there, but then I’ve always done that. It’s something I do, and it helps me wake up. So I’m talking to the audience and hoping they are listening. Best I can do, really.

If I’m on my own, I can talk about things I wouldn’t mention in mixed company. For the past few mornings I’ve been talking about how and why I started ILB. Where the name came from, the process I went through to register, what little of a plan I had, what the main inspiration was (Adam Kay, it was you, if you’re reading this!). I talk about the adventures I’ve had (I’m particularly fond of the time I left my house at 4am in order to get to Eroticon 2012 in time for breakfast), and those yet to come.

I’ll talk about soft porn and occasionally sing along to the music in my head. Maybe I’m reviewing something i like or raging about Emmanuelle. Quite often I’m rehearsing an introductory speech to the Erotic Independent Film Club (which doesn’t exist, but it’s nice to think about). In my quieter moments, I make lists of the sex bloggers I know in my head. How many do I know? How many of them are still around? Who are they? Where are they?

How many of them had sex last night?

Is this very silly? Perhaps. I’ve been in a massive creative slump since I came out of hospital. So much as thinking about updating my blog is nothing short of scary; I have neither the will nor the inclination to do any of the other creative project I do in February. The other day I did write one page of the story I’ve been meaning to start, but a little voice in my head serves to consistently remind me that I don’t know where I’m going with it.

So, yes. Maybe it is silly. There isn’t anyone to listen when I tell my stories. The only person who gets to hear them is me.

But it’s very nice to pretend.