The clock is racing towards midnight once again, and I find myself hidden in the study, half working on freelance projects, and half distracted by the continual stream of detritus flowing from those I know, and those I don’t from all corners of the world.The soundtrack from “The Social Network” is gently filling the room.
I feel like I should write something, but I’m not entirely sure what. Short form blogging has become the easy option. Quick soundbytes, single line quotes, and photos taken in passing.
This weekend feels like it never really happened, and tomorrow morning the working week begins again. Again. I feel guilty dreading it because I have nothing to dreadI like my job, and I’m pretty good at what I do. I get paid well enough for it toocertainly more than I would ever get as a writer, or a journalist, or a “blogger”.
If being a writer online means concocting the utter crap that people have written today about 9/11 (mostly as cynical attempts to jump on the attention seeking bandwagon under the auspices of “gaining traffic”), you can stuff it.
I guess I’ve always been the square peg. It’s in my nature to be”different”to forge my own path, and think my own thoughts. If enough people start to share the same ideals or thoughts, I will be the one you findTruman show stylesetting my sails in the opposite direction.