The only really constant source of frustration for people around me is that I lack enthusiasm for anything.

Ever get the feeling that something is wrong? You might have an inkling of what the problem is, but it always hovers near the edge of that intangible field of your perception, whether it’s because you won’t let yourself admit it or because he just eludes you. It is immaterial. The difference. As well as the thought.

So something is wrong. You don’t ever like to admit it. But now it’s not anything that you can just… ignore. Pervasive.

Your joints are stiff and painful. Your hands ache and sting. You haven’t been able to use your thumb in over two months. But despite that, the last few months have been among the best and happiest times in your life. The last few weeks have been the worst, but it’s worth it right? (that’s what they say) You’re not sure whether you like how it has changed you - after all, before, things were fine, stable, nice. There were people around, you went to them when you needed to, if they wanted you there. And when that wasn’t required, sitting up in your room, door closed, a few books on the desk, the bottle of wine or scotch or rum, the white-yellow glow of your lamp suffusing your belongings… Souvenirs of years past lining the shelves, the pile of clothes and cabling and train tickets and magnets and blades by the end of the bed, just like it should be, the tolerable thump of the laptop speakers playing pleasant pseudo-meaningful tunes.

But now the thought of being alone begins to look a little daunting to you. You lose track of your thoughts. Memories of just hours past fail to materialise when called upon, and you muse upon the correlation. Spelling errors are no longer terrifying. Your music collection has doubled, and now includes something other than punk rock.

Times change, you guess.

It strikes me, reading other blogs, that I actually ‘run’ a blog, if what I do with this could be considered ‘running’. I suspect not.

It also strikes me that I feel like writing, which is unusual in and of itself, but that I don’t feel like writing anything in particular is exceptionally so.

If you know me, and I suspect you do, if you are indeed reading this, the times when I feel like being verbose for no other reason than achieving such a state and few and far between, and if you are me, which you are not, you would realise that I tend to lose momentum for this kind of feeling before I get to a pen and paper, or even the internet.

But not today!

Are you excited?

A pause now, as I wonder exactly how to go about being verbose without any particular subject or theme in mind. As someone who tends to have rather direct thought processes [or so I’d like to think] it is somewhat challenging to just … ramble, like so many others do, somewhat more successfully.

Yet even most of them have a point.

These past few weeks have been odd, for me. Though this is now an increasing common trend, to the point that I wonder if, perhaps, the times I do not feel odd are in fact, the odd parts, and I just have things the wrong way around.

They say hindsight is 20/20, something I’ve thought odd since I found that 20/20 just means you can see some letters from twenty feet away, and something to do with a viewing angle. My particular targeted point here being that 20/20 vision does not actually imply perfection, something that the actual proverb I feel should. And there is a name for it! Hindsight Bias.

“I refuse to prove that I exist,” says God, “for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.”

“But,” says Man, “The Babel fish proves you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don’t.”

“Oh dear,” says God, “I hadn’t thought of that,” and promptly vanished in a puff of logic.

And it is at this point that I realise blogging is a terribly inefficent way of venting and return to my regular methods of such.

the tumblr UI changed and I liked the last one better.

There comes a time in every teenager’s life when they realise there are things they want to say that are perhaps unsuitable for the comsumption of the general public, where the general public is composed of their Facebook friends or Twitter followers.

bollocks.

bollocks