A realisation so monumental, so mind-boggling, so diamond-shattering, so err you get the drift.. finally struck me like a sledgehammer on a one-inch nail just a few seconds ago. This be that WHO CARES that all titles to my post begin with the letter W.
I believe that because of this urge to be intelligent by prefixing all my titles with a word that begins with W whilst still making sense has impeded many a worthy post of materialising. This lends itself into a diminished insight into my everyday life. This stands in stark contrast to my friend Jess’ attempt to take a picture a day of herself which can be viewed on her Flick’r admist many of her other stunning photography. And also quite recently, I happened across Ann’s month-of-April-a-post-a-day challenge, which is quite the opposite to my trickling of post that over the past year has amounted to just under twice the 30 posts that would have been accomplished by her.
But there is also some merit in my incessant attempt of prefixing my titles with the letter W. One it disseminates the beauty of the the double-u when in reality it looks more like a double-v. Maybe in days gone by, when calligraphy was an esteemed skill and artform did the elusive double-u really did resemble 2-u’s conjoined at the hips ala siamese twins. Secondly it filters out the potential bollocks that I might spout given the total freedom that I would have been entitled to.
In reality (that being university) where there is freedom, where my writing does matter, and where my markers do care… Let me rephrase that, where my grades is proportional to the quality of writing, someone most definitely have to care. And that someone as it appears to be is not me. I have 2 literature reviews knocking on my cerebral door, begging me to start and finish, yet all I do is peek at it through the peep hole, refusing to open the door.
I find myself in an extremely dire predicament. Recently, it dawned upon me that in some twisted way, I actually do enjoy writing. If I could turn back time a few years, In complete retrospect, I would have done journalism instead of Psychology. I often look upon envy at Brian’s deep involvement with social media in Singapore, and potentially the world. Brian’s commentary on what to me looks like Singapore’s obession with the blogosphere sparks my curiosity about the potential to be replicated in Australia and that I could be the trail-blazer that brings about the “blogging” revolution in Australia. But then who cares?
All Australians care for is sports, sex, and supple ammounts of alcohol. Now I understand that this is a gross exaggeration of the interest of Australia, and that my leanings in statistics would tell me that it would still follow a normal distribution. I digress.
Back to the predicament, despite the enjoyment I get from contributing to the blogosphere, it does not translate well to my assignments. Do not enjoy doing them one bit. I find it takes so much effort to actually get started, and when I do get started, it takes so much effort to sustain my attention on it, and then it also takes so much effort to complete it.
This post has taken on an interesting twist (for want of a better word) to what I originally conceptualised it to be. So now I am what you could say “end-less”, lacking a conclusion, summary etc. etc. But who cares?
