I let the anniversary go by, and yet can't quite. Mid February 2005 I started doing this. And still I do it, although it's an ache as much as a pleasure - the knowledge that I can't or won't write more or better, that the precious, tenuous contacts made through blogging come and go and are subject to the same dissatisfactions (mostly with myself) as any others. But take this ache away and I'd feel hollow. Every small piece of self-expression heaved out into the virtual world is a centring, a brief sighting of home.