tales from an ordinary world

2000-09-13b

I walked down Commercial Road in the sun during my lunchbreak, stuffing my discman into my jacket pocket along with a Friends of Dean Martinez CD to try and make it seem like I was somewhere a bit further west. All this sitting around the office was getting me nowhere, I needed to walk off my restless confusion.

521 emails yesterday - too many mailing lists I'm not keeping up with. Every now and then I go into shock, unsubscribing from all but a treasured few lists. The thrill of mailing-list-based interaction is gone for me - many of the ones that I'm on seem too caught up in localised politics and pecking orders, such that I hardly ever feel like saying anything unless I really really feel I'm sure that I have something useful to contribute. Web searches on my name will reveal list archives from previous eras, when I felt more confident about saying whatever came into my head. My days as an Eager Young Space Cadet are gone.

If my words are lost, if they get suppressed somehow, it really doesn't matter to me. Others seem to be able to talk about particular things I hold inside me, and I'm thankful they're able to do it better, more verbosely. I don't need to be centre-stage - I'm happy sitting off in some little side street, arranging my thoughts and feeding you random memories when you drop by.