Writing (kind of) about distance a few days ago, along with reformatting how I write for myself, seems to have done a fair amount for my ability to read my own words. Which is to say that, for the first time in about a year, I’ve actually done so (yeah, it’s kind of weird).
Digging through your old self is alway interesting, if slightly horrible. Doing so in public eye is significantly more horrible. But it is unarguably fascinating as an experience. It’s a constant re-remembering of previous action, often with a pastel-washed glimpse of a previous state of mind. In many cases it turns out I don’t really remember writing what I wrote, or rather I do, but I /only/ remember that I wrote it. Not why. It’s like amateur archeology; see these walls, buried for…about two weeks…what were these half-broken items used for? We’ve restored them here, but can still only ponder the intricacies of this long forgotten culture.
But in the interests of airing my brain out, I thought it might be worth trying to see if there is anything with (external) value. Which is to say, anything that I’m willing to share. The self-referential diary-rants are less likely to be considered so. Unless I feel like it. It has occurred to me several times that I embed by doing, so reading this stuff (and consequently posting some of it, maybe, possibly, you don’t know) is essentially an excersize in rememberance. So this is essentially me doing things here, publically, in order to help me, personally.
I said it was weird, right?