Regular readers have no doubt noticed my recent slump in output. When my side-bar is longer than the main bit, you know I have a problem. The last time this occurred was in December, when I threatened to give up blogging altogether. I thought I'd figured out what this was all about: I am scared of change. I stopped blogging in December when I took redundancy, and I'm doing it again now that I've started evening shifts at the paper.

I don't think it is change I am scared of, but uncertainty. On the surface, I sailed through the break-up with Marcus, blogging everything that moved. But that was a defence mechanism: graceful swan above, frantic paddling below. At least I knew the waters I was in, and I knew how to navigate out of them.

Much as I hate to admit it, I like routine. I like to know what my day is going to look like, I need to know that tomorrow won't differ from today. I like certainty. I require stability.

I am aware that sounds odd from someone who spends his life on the edge, or pretty damn near it. But I am a trapeze artist - I will execute death-defying manoeuvres as long as I know there's a safety net to break my fall. Right now, the net has been pulled away - I'm winging it. I'm employed on a strictly casual basis, which is a first for me. I could be out of a job tomorrow. Also, Marcus has recovered enough from our break-up that he wants to go out for a drink. Do I want that? I do. I don't. I'm scared.

I don't know what I want. And - for me - that's new, and frightening.

For a control freak like me, who needs certainty, it's a scary situation. Oh, it's a healthy situation, I suppose. I can't always predict what is going to happen. I can't always be in charge. I need to be challenged, to be surprised. And so I launch myself into a somersault, having faith that I will catch the swinging bar.

And if I don't? Hell, I've seen The Greatest Show On Earth - I always play the wounded clown.