Crikey, two posts in the same month. Has someone let a couple of Horsemen out for a trial Apocalypse run?
It's winter here, and I can't decide if I'm suffering a case of winter blues, or if there's something serious behind the endless second-guessing that I've been doing lately. I have a horrible suspicion I might be brewing a midlife crisis a few years early, but I'm still hoping to wake up one morning and discover that I've just been winding myself up.
I've been self-medicating with music. Rebuilt my old MP3 player - surprised to find I know how to use a screwdriver and watch a tutorial on youtube, and even more surprised that it actually works with Banshee - and have been dragging it around everywhere. The side effect of that is the Other Half never knows if I'm listening to him, or whether I'm having a fit or just dancing to something he can't hear.
At any rate, I've been buying up old albums from bands that I always intended to love: Stone Temple Pilots, Soundgarden etc. I seem to running about two decades behind the rest of the planet, which is fine by me. Means I have another decade of being Bieber-free, at least.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Random blip
Well, if I let a whole year lapse between posts, that'd be downright lazy, so here's a random update.
I have, in the last few months, rediscovered that I might still have some residual writing talent left over from my (long ago) days as an angsty teenage fanfic writer. I've started writing random snapshots of things, instead of journaling my own life, but I can't decide if it's worth the effort or not. With no plot, no direction and no real point, I'm collecting a huge mass of words that I have no intention of sharing with anyone. Except a close friend, who assured me it's not crap (I was kinda desperate for approval and mortified that she can probably extrapolate how weird I am from two pages of drivel).
At any rate, it's keeping me quiet.
Thing is, my hobbies tend to go in a very rigid cycle: discovery, interest, OHMYGODIAMOBSESSEDTHISISMYENTIRELIFE, mild interest, embarrassment that I'd ever brought it up in front of anyone. Rinse, wash, repeat and revisit in six years' time, when I'll come across a bunch of old writing that, at first glance, seems like it might actually be half decent.
I have, in the last few months, rediscovered that I might still have some residual writing talent left over from my (long ago) days as an angsty teenage fanfic writer. I've started writing random snapshots of things, instead of journaling my own life, but I can't decide if it's worth the effort or not. With no plot, no direction and no real point, I'm collecting a huge mass of words that I have no intention of sharing with anyone. Except a close friend, who assured me it's not crap (I was kinda desperate for approval and mortified that she can probably extrapolate how weird I am from two pages of drivel).
At any rate, it's keeping me quiet.
Thing is, my hobbies tend to go in a very rigid cycle: discovery, interest, OHMYGODIAMOBSESSEDTHISISMYENTIRELIFE, mild interest, embarrassment that I'd ever brought it up in front of anyone. Rinse, wash, repeat and revisit in six years' time, when I'll come across a bunch of old writing that, at first glance, seems like it might actually be half decent.
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