I’m afraid the image seen above may be the modern equivalent of a typewriter with an ashtray next to it. Hopefully I remember to use the delete key instead of trying to crumple the tablet.
So I was working on writing some kind of entry on how socially inept I am. A lot of “woe is me” and things of that nature. Then it was time for another beer and mildly intoxicated thoughts prevailed.
Yes, beer – for the first time in existence – has prevented someone from openly complaining about their life. I try to defy expectations, if only to avoid being a cliche.
Truth is, I don’t really have anything to say tonight. I’m typing something out, because I need the exercise in writing. Most of the writing I do nowadays is of a technical or administrative nature, and there’s no fun or creativity in that. It’s all an exercise in how to convey procedures or make your point sound official enough to be taken seriously.
Sad thing is, I’m not a creative writer. The few attempts I’ve made at fiction are living a better life somewhere in silicon heaven. Anything I ever committed to paper has likely been in a dumpster for decades. Honestly, I’m scared of ever putting anything like that out there. It’s outside my comfort zone, which is a frighteningly tiny place.
For me, it’s easier to conversationally ramble – at least it is when I’m online. Twitter is fun, ’cause it’s a quick get-in-get-out method of communication. It’s easy to be a drive-by smartass.
I want to change that. I’d like to take this space to be enthuastic about my interests. I’d like to discuss the odd projects I’ve done with technology, and perhaps have that be an inspiration to someone else.
Basically, I’d like to be more interesting than the guy who just makes silly 140 character remarks.
Damn, I have wound up complaining. Guess I needed a stronger beer than Coors.