I realised today that the mountain I’m climbing at work is steeper than I thought. I’m tempted to dig in and work nights to get ahead of the game, but I’m not being paid to do that, and I doubt anybody will thank me for it. It’s a trap I’ve fallen into before, and I have no doubt I will again – busting my ass to meet other people’s requirements or expectations. We’ll ignore that those expectations were pulled out of thin air with no regard for reality, past experience, or any sort of judgement.
I’ll change the subject before I get myself in trouble.
I wrote in my old Moleskine notebook last night for the first time in four months. The moleskine is a hangover from when I worked in London over a decade ago – I started keeping a paper journal – a diary of sorts – filled with my thoughts each day. I was travelling on trains for four hours each day, and thought I might go mad unless I started recording my thoughts.
While writing in the notebook I realised I missed it, and it caused me to think about blogging – if it’s really worth it. Blogging seems to be a double edged sword – on one side, if you publish stuff out to the world, it gets discovered by wonderful people that become far flung friends – and yet on the other side you end up filtering the words you post to such a degree that they become a pale reflection of the stories they tell.
I wonder if I can do both? Would it be completely insane to write a regular blog, AND fill a page of the paper notebook each night?