When you’re busy fiddling with something interesting, it’s easy to become so engrossed in “the next thing” that you forget all about the trail of things you have been fiddling with previously - that invariably stretch out like a trail of destruction behind you.
We witness it all the time with our children; they are completely oblivious to the scene of devastation surrounding their latest flight of fantasy involving Bratz dolls, stickers, colouring pencils, playing cards, board games, and anything else they happened to pass by on their adventure. Quite why it all needs to be out, strewn across the floor, and jammed down the back of the sofa is a really good question.
I can’t judge the children though, because I exhibit the same failing. Over the last several months I have frequented Facebook, LiveJournal, Posterous, WordPress, Tumblr, Twitter, Friendfeed and any number of other social networking or blogging destinations on the internet. All the while I have had a sadly neglected “home” - a personal blog - a place to call my own.
Through the various toys available within the sites mentioned above, they can be plumbed into each other - spectacularly so with Posterous. Perhaps an analogy might better describe the situation? Imagine you could turn the television on in your house by running the cold tap on the kitchen sink… and that the sink filling could turn the cooker on, unlock the back door, and feed the cat. That’s effectively what I have done. I’ve woven a tapestry of such complexity that I have no idea how to untangle it short of walking away from the whole damn thing.
I am a victim of myself. I have nobody else to blame. I am officially stupid. If there was a pack of trumps for stupid people, I would be quite the valuable card.
I may not know many things, or be able to work them out judging from the story I just related, but I do know that this blog - Cheese and Beans - is a good thing. I get to share my most mundane, idiotic or pointless thoughts with an audience who arrived here quite by chance, and may never pass again. Sometimes a fellow crazy person happens upon this place though, and we make friends in the same manner as small children meeting in a playground.