I say this time and time again, but I have a weird fascination with my writing and my thoughts. Perhaps others feel the same way so it may not be so weird, but I find my own writing, which is a ordered manifestation of my thoughts, to be pretty interesting.
I just read a doodle* that I wrote two years ago makes no sense whatsoever. Well, I think it does, but the way it progresses and what I'm trying to get at is so vague that I feel like it could be read a hundred different ways by a hundred different people, and everyone would have a valid point. And I wonder, where in the world did I come up with that?
It's a weird feeling when the writing or thoughts that you've extracted don't feel to be completely your own. I think too, what's interesting, is this idea of audience. Who am I writing to? A future me? My "readership," however paltry?
In the end, it is to a future me, but at least with this blog, it's tempered by the fact that it's public (so I try to polish a tad more than I do with my doodles...).
*Doodles are my private thought journals. Some I end up sharing, others are just plain incoherent, and yet others really are for no one to see except a future me.
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