With an absolute lapse in activity on my part (though not so much with the tinkering of the template of the page I’ll have the less-astute know) I feel I need to explain myself to the handful of readers (and the dozens of scoffers) who actually feel the need to visit my little homage to banality.
You see, between last Friday and 10:15 this evening, I came to the realisation that my life is, in fact, dull. Well, dull isn’t really the right word for my existence. Perhaps the old adage of ‘watching paint dry’ is far more applicable, because for most days, that is honestly what I feel like I am doing: watching the paint dry. Whether its sitting (or standing have you) on a CityRail Death Carriage, working, studying, attending lectures, walking from here to there, driving from place-to-place, I am watching the paints of my life effectively dry.
Now I know this post is taking the tones of some sort of depressive on a somber path to Emo Land, but I am coming to a point.
Now, take my humble, meager blog and compare it to the likes of SamuelGordonStewart.com or New Lines From A Floating Life, two blogs that I link to (and unfortunately the only two blogs that I find I am eager to check up on), and I am nothing. Am am but a grain of sand that is the long, white beach of NLFAFL and the crashing waves of SGS.com. Now why is this?
I thought I had the answer earlier in the week in between contrasting Piaget’s theories with that of Lev Vygotsky’s and trying to (with very little success) pick out my subjects for next year. I thought that I had nothing to blog about because nothing interesting has been happening in my garden of activity. Then I realised that, well, things have, in fact, been happening, but I am just too damn lazy to get up and do anything!
I am a lazy do-hickey.
That’s all I am. I could have blogged about how it was my birthday a few days ago, the events that happened then yadda yadda yadda. I could have finished one of the many, many, posts that all I have to do is write a couple of paragraphs and it’s postable. I could have written about how my sister is going through all the same shit I was going through this time two years ago at HSC time, and what I did, and how I coped (albeit this could be, shock, awe and gasp, very personal, tedious and ultimately boring). I could have written about how, after reading a mere single book from the twelve in the collection, I am consumed by my new favourite text: Paradise Lost. I could have written about the developments that have occurred already at YouTube after the Google buyout. But I didn’t. All the ideas are there (Australia’s cricket performance and future chances, movies I’ve recently seen, movies I intend to make, my new camera, functional grammar (in the efforts of annoying The Viper, who unfortunately loathes one of the greatest English subjects I have ever done), the scammer that I have been sitting on for about a month now (and have been alluding to for quite some time now), Internet behaviour and etiquette and my thoughts on that (which is likely to actually incite discussion among the Internet active users, not the passive users (both of which are defined in the post))). But, again, I ask did I act on any of these ideas? No, of course not.
I’m lazy after all.
I begin to wonder if it’s the fact that I am lazy or I am complacent in that a post will come to me and write itself with no effort (see many of my earlier posts). I reside in the fact that it is both, and probably more, which, if I discuss here, will mean this blog goes from being an extension of me to a part of me, and there is way too much crapola in there to be writing about, trust you me.
So I tried to figure out a solution, drawing on all the brainpower (about the same amount of wattage to power, well, static) I could muster and I came up with a few emo reasoning’s, a couple of sensible answers, but nothing to cure my disease of laziness. Disease is the wrong word, because it implies there is treatment. With laziness, there is no treatment. If you are like me, lazy, complacent, the definition of a bludger, you are stuck like that. I can remember (hazily though) in a drunken stupor telling a girl who, being in my sister’s year, about to begin the HSC not to waste the opportunity to hit the sky with your marks, as I did. Did I choose to waste the opportunity that I had worked to come HSC exams? Yes. How did I make that choice: through shear laziness. Nothing else. I could have studied. I could have done that extra month’s work. I didn’t do either, and I think about it and kick myself about it each day: that I didn’t (oh! behold the words of many a teacher here) apply myself.
As a side note, advising a female about not wasting academics opportunity, while drunk, is not a successful method of trying to get them to call/email/talk to you again. I’ll remember that.
So where has this mournful rambling led us to? To the realisation that I am one lazy S.O.B., that I really am nothing in the scheme of things, and that I am probably one f’d up jack up in the head. Well, that last one is a guarantee, I promise you that.
The saddest part about this post is I’m not even drunk while writing it. I am running on a mere two hours sleep between 9 a.m. Friday and 11:40 p.m. Saturday (35 hours, or there abouts, if my lack-of-maths in the HSC serves me correct). Never-mind, I expect (though don’t hold out as I may have let myself down on what I am thinking about at the moment) I may be cheered up by mid next week. I mean, sure, uni finishes up for the semester, I’ll have picked my subjects and, thus, major, and ultimately decided my future (as best I can), won back The 18 Cup, enjoyed my last train ride for (bar my exam days) six months, and begun the countdown for my ‘big trip’, but these are minor, trivial aspects of my life next week …