If my mother wasn’t a teacher, she’d be a superhero, kicking government official ass by day and saving the world by night. After five months of getting married, and who knows how many weeks of visits to the marriage registration office, Sam and I are now married in the eyes of the law. All thanks to the efforts of my mum and her school friends.

In other news, that sound you hear? It’s the tip tapping of my fingers on the keyboard. After weeks of major writer’s block (aka the rejection that killed my will to write), I’m back to the land of the unwashed who live inside their own heads. The block and the resulting lack of interest in my own career is a long story that I will tell you about once I reach a positive ending, but for now, I’m just happy to be back to writing again. I never thought I’d say this, but blank page, I’ve missed you.

It’s interesting though. I’ve been away not only from work, but also from the Internet, and even I didn’t realize how much of a relief it would be. I hadn’t realized how taxing it was to be constantly connected– checking Twitter instead of reading a book, responding to people’s Facebook updates instead of picking up the phone and chatting. It’s so easy to get caught up in social media and feel that you’re updated on people’s lives because you’ve seen them online, but I found that I ended up calling a few select people on an almost daily or weekly basis because I wanted to catch up with them in the absence of Facebook, and connected so much more with them.

My house, of course, looked spotless over the last month. Laundry was done regularly, curtains that had been lying around the house for months were finally put up, my books have found their places throughout the house, and in what’s surprised even me, I’m loving spending time in the kitchen learning to cook.

This morning though, my fingers are on fire. I’ve finished four tasks on my to-do list already, am confident that I’ll finish at least seven more by the end of the day. Most importantly, I’m writing again.

It feels like I’ve found my way home.

In some ways, the last few weeks have just flown by. I am now a proud aunt to two as-yet-unnamed baby girls, one who is not even a week old. Both girls arrived two weeks early, one by an emergency c-section, and both have quickly become aunty M’s favorites. (My best friend and my sister-in-law are doing well.)

In other ways, time has stood still. I’ve been taking time off work to figure out what I want to do next with my career. Having achieved most of the goals I set out to and not having reached the next stage yet, I’m in a bit of limbo. I’ve been meaning to slow down the pace of work for a while now, but doing what I do, the market is such that it’s almost impossible to do that without taking a huge pay cut.

So, with a lot of hope and a few tears, I’ve been trying to figure out my next step. Journalism? Books? Both?

It’s been stressful, trying to change paths a bit. I’m at that stage in my life and career where I’m not constantly taken over by work. I reply to e-mails once a day, I take time out to read, watch television, cook, play with the cat and relax with my family. In some ways, the go-go-go nature of journalism no longer appeals to me. But the only way I’ve ever identified is as a journalist. Without that label, I feel lost.

“I didn’t marry a journalist, I married you,” Sam said to me the other day, as I fretted about how I felt I had no identity left were I to even consider taking a detour from journalism. And that’s been the hardest part of it for me. I’m used to reinventing myself, but having come this far, there’s more to lose.

So I’ve been drawing, decorating, visiting friends, and just laying low. Letting the words come to me instead of chasing after them and hunting them down.

It’s been a good break. But I think it’s time to get back to work now.