Do you ever get the feeling that your subconscious mind has nothing better to do than stalk you around and record bits of your life for the sole purpose of replaying them back to you when you least need to see them?
I hate that.
I remember a conversation which occurred about six months ago, when a very dear friend of mine had expressed a distinct and compelling urge to impale himself bodily upon his computer. He was in the thick of the end-of-semester angstbugs, having something like five million billion papers to write and relative analysis of Gravity's Rainbow as interpreted by the Mexican Gila monster to complete. He'd often received the more cynical end of my merciless taunting because he was an English major, and I often neglected the fact that he doubled it up masochistically with psychology just so that I could tease him about it and make myself feel better, as a math major, about the fact that the only friends I have are derivative.
Anyway, all this culminated into me pointing and laughing at him because I didn't have to write stuff very often and he did. A lot. The end of the semester was apparently very difficult because the last thing he wanted to do was write. He wanted to do fun stuff like play guitar and come get drunk at my apartment. (This did happen, but much later.)
Now, we're in November, and as I still have about two months before I start on the classes I really need for my degree, I decided to do something "enriching" and "creative," two words which when applied to me are usually utilised to describe baking flour or swearing, respectively.
I'm pretty sure there will be blood.
It follows that the way I typically avoid writing something is to write about my complaints about writing something, which is hilarious if you think about it. So that's what this blog post is about. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month only to hit about 6,500 words and go "halp." The way it happened in 2006 was, I did about 25,000 words up to the last week of November, whereafter I failed entirely as a human being and spent the following four days locked in my room, subsisting off Macaroni Grill chianti, cheddar cheese, and my own self-loathing until I hit 50,015 words by 11:58pm on November 30th.
But look! I got a prize!
It was completely ridiculous.
I worry about myself.
INFORMATION OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE
|In order to condense my viewpoints/interests and consequently maintain an active log thereof, I decided to create this diary of sorts. It will have science, technology, politics, and maybe humour (!!1!). It will probably also have pictures of my cat.|
By no means are my sources guaranteed to have complete accuracy. As an average person, my intake of world events is funnelled through the media – newspapers, television, and internet articles. I will try to wade through the rubbish or strategically reword the presentations to reflect my viewpoints and mine alone. This may or may not be accompanied by LOLwhatever(s) and gratuitous punctuation.
By no means are you obligated to read my ramblings if you are a) a sensible person, b) a non-sensible person, c) French, d) sensitive to empty and thoughtless jokes about the French, e) sensitive to sunlight, f) a gardener, g) a protester against lengthy alphabetised lists, h) a purveyor of numbered lists, rather, or i) someone who likes their information presented somewhat like a three-year-old’s breakfast, with oatmeal and Froot Loops and orange juice all mixed up into Mt. Carbohydrate and subsequently thrown on the floor. However, my entries may pertain to you from time to time, so you might want to read anyway. Or you might not. Or you may actually want to go to France, whereupon I say allons-y! I'll get my toothbrush.
In matters of politics, I do not consider myself overtly liberal or radically conservative. I also do not have picket-prints on my rear from fence-sitting; that is, I tend to jump the fence at every possible opportunity in order to remain as confusing as possible and to strengthen my calves.
There is little humanity in being of one mind, and this diary is dedicated to the pursuit of information from various sources, many of them opposing, to avoid falling victim to the Orwellian nightmare.
And sometimes I use it to be completely vain and/or post pictures of my cat.