I’ve had the strangest feeling recently – like there’s just too much of everything. Too many websites. Too much information. Too many people. Too many conversations. It’s like my brain is holding it’s hands up and shouting “THAT’S IT – ENOUGH!”. I suppose it doesn’t help that I just spent the last two hours watching “Brooklyn Nine-Nine”, but that was more about spending time with my other half than rejecting the world.

For an hour earlier today I found myself looking at blogging options again – before sitting on my hands, and laughing heartily at my own idiocy. It was all triggered when I couldn’t figure out how something worked where the blog is currently hosted, and then within my head it rapidly morphed into a furious rant about all of the web publishing platforms – about Blogger being a terribly built pile of spaghetti hell-code, WordPress being a walled garden with blinkered citizens, Squarespace being an expensive utopia, and Medium being filled with pretend thinkers and essayists. There is of course no basis to any of these opinions, other than bitterness, jealousy, and ninja levels of fence-sitting know-it-all-ness. I think I might have just made that word up.

While dicking around, looking at blog hosting platforms, it occurred to me how long it has been since I consistently wrote anything insightful, or entertaining. I sit here, and force out a few hundred words every day or so. When I read it back, I often wonder why anybody else might bother reading it – then I remind myself that we are all interesting to somebody, because we all come from different countries – different cultures. My “normal” is not the same as your “normal”. Even the tiniest details – the words, idioms, or similes I might use – are vastly different.

Underwear is pants. Things that are rubbish are pants. Sensible trousers are pants. When a dog is tired it pants. Language is a nightmare at the best of times.

Anyway. There is no point to this post. I’m not really sure why I’m even writing it. Let’s think of it as a release valve of sorts – clearing some built-up pressure so that I might start writing the delightful, entertaining stuff once again. Maybe.

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