May 27, 2005

Long post (about 1.7 londonmarks)

While I was driving home today, I toyed with the idea of restoring the archives from my previous “blog”. I took them down after I finished writing the site. I’m not sure why, perhaps I was just having a little paranoid thing about employers finding it yahdy yahdy yah, not that there was anything particularly incriminating on there anyway.
The reasons for and against doing this are all intermingled and there’s probably a fair spot of duplication between them, which is why I’m not going to explain the purpose of what I’m writing here. I’m just going to write it and hope that you can figure it out for yourself. If you can, then you’re doing a hell of a lot better than me.
My last weblog represented a different time. There seem to be a herd of us floating around these days. We started writing three or four years ago, when we were single and had a lot of time to ourselves to think really hard about things. And we’d think our foolish, unhelpful thoughts for hours and hours and hours, and there was a computer there, so we’d write it down to try and get some sort of order. I guess we were just trying to save our games – once we’d established some basic facts, we could hit F6, and then go off and explore other fabulous bits of our brains, and if things all went wrong then at least we could hit F7 and perhaps attack it from a different angle. So we’d write long and poignant posts, uninterrupted by banalities, focused on the task of being the most intelligent beast in the world.
And now we’re still here. Well, some of us are. Some never made it out of single and tortured, and they entertain us to this day. But the rest of us made it out, and found a partner, and suddenly life is less about thinking and more about doing. Within this category there exist those who took the euphemistic prolonged hiatus, and those who still write, albeit nice inoffensive stuff. Our input is comparable to those who post pictures of their cats, and a few levels lower in the hierarchy than the angsteous livejournallers. I mean, I do actually write the personal stuff sometimes, it just never makes it out of draft. I look at it and think “Nah, people don’t want to read that, they’re just here for the innuendo and the green.”
I never used to be such a harsh editor, but I guess none of us did. It’s just one of those transitions that a lot of people go through. Why am I still writing here? Fuck knows. Inertia, I guess. As a service to the Internetting community, I use robots tags where appropriate to ensure that none of this can pollute the Google results of those innocent bystanders.
I think I hereby announce my resignation from blogging. Again.
UPDATE: Since writing this post, I’ve thought of about a million instances of people who have become unsingle, and I am enjoying their writing more, which flies in the face of my theory. I was hoping to have this little update in place before any of them contacted me on the subject, but I think I’ve failed slightly. Still, here it is.