Fanatically chronicalling every detail about my life is rewarding only in the humour it provides probably some three years down the track. And even then it’s only funny when it’s a highly descriptive narrative about bowel movements or actually significant events – I made the mistake of opening my year 8 diaries the other day. My computer hung, did weird flashy things on the screen and made a beepy sound (which always tends to bode badly) and didn’t unfreeze for another ten minutes. “Well fuck, these entries had better be worth it,” thought I, most naively. Instead of revelling in the foolishness and frivolity of all those long years ago (when I was stupid and ignorant, as I certainly am not any more..), I was inundated with an endlessly inane amount of drivel documenting each and every conversation I’d ever had (complete with verbs in asterisks denoting trivial actions I’d clearly thought significant at the time) and page long analyses (tell me “analyses” exists as a plural form and not just a verb) about the implications and significance of those conversations. One such conversation ran as follows:
Eh you know what, I’m not going to suffer the torment of reading through my year 8 diaries again 
So I’ll just leave it up to you to imagine kind of prattling entries I wrote.
But yeah. At times I even went through past entries, copy-pasted excerpts and then followed that through with extensive commentary, usually addressing myself in the second person. Yes, you have a schizoid in the making.
~
In any case, this pointless post illustrates how far I’ve come since my days of bad journalling – instead of journalling because I had nothing better to do, I now blog about blogging because I have everying else in the world that needs doing. Gah, I think my politics revision is calling me. “Where areeeee youuu???? Why aren’t you doing me on the desk right nowwwwww??”
On second thoughts, that might not be my politics after all
