After a long hiatus from blogging and the brief term of office living which inspired me to take to write on this blog, I now take to writing on this blog again.
But this time it will be different! First, I am never going to write in the office as a means to waste time. Never! Especially when my boss is right in front of me wearing a dress of green and brown swirling splotches. It is really inappropriate to do that, so I will not. Before, I used the blog as a way to vent my discontent with my life as an office rat. I would write on my blog while sitting in my chair at my office desk. My colleagues' poor grasp of English stymied all accidental discovery of what I was working on (it certainly wasn't about ice cream!). Moreover, my superior had no interest in gum-shoeing the wherefore of my lagging work.
I have since "grown up" and understand my nascent and yet-to-be-proven-long-lived blogging tendency to be the digital manifestation of my complete satisfaction with all that is good/vocational in my life. That the name of the blog is unchanged only reflects a mature admission of the previous rebelliousness and petulance I was so rash to broadcast over the web for the potential consumption of a mass internet community. In reality it only reached the two non-me blog-followers, but nevertheless caused what I am sure was a seismic disappointment on their parts of me, shaking the foundations of our very real, non-digital, non-blogger-to-blogger friendships.
So for all new comers and potential onlooking, wiser-than-my-previous-superior superiors, I say this: Please understand that my newly reanimated urges to write are in no way thematically related to the question that serves as this blog's present title! The question itself (a misusage! "Something": doing anything, even nothing, is some thing already; I was always already doing something!) is nonsensical. I leave it as the title to this blog only as a tribute to the skin of immaturity and unseriousness and disrespectful youth from which my very serious, office-work-respecting self and general personal flourishing have since molted. I love my job and it loves me too.
Second and probably last, all that garbage I wrote before should be completely dismissed. It all amounts to so much juvenile sophistry, towers of tinsel, spoiled senior-prom plans. I'm leaving that all behind as water under the bridge -- things I wrote and meant at the time but now coolly gaze upon from a place of great distance, a place that is probably also metaphorically higher in altitude, gazing with coolness and confidence that that kind of choppy, overly emotive, juvenile writing, those half-baked ideas and images, are long and far away from where I am now in my metaphoric writing perch. To be perfectly clear: a graceful condor to an impetuous duck am I now as I was to my old self, in terms of being a writer, that is.
Second and probably last, all that garbage I wrote before should be completely dismissed. It all amounts to so much juvenile sophistry, towers of tinsel, spoiled senior-prom plans. I'm leaving that all behind as water under the bridge -- things I wrote and meant at the time but now coolly gaze upon from a place of great distance, a place that is probably also metaphorically higher in altitude, gazing with coolness and confidence that that kind of choppy, overly emotive, juvenile writing, those half-baked ideas and images, are long and far away from where I am now in my metaphoric writing perch. To be perfectly clear: a graceful condor to an impetuous duck am I now as I was to my old self, in terms of being a writer, that is.
