Self-referential

Did you catch what I did there? Collect all my old posts from three different blogs I started in the past few years and backdate them and post them all in rapid succession, only to not post again for a week? It has the effect of making me look like some of blogging machine, a blogbot, a homo faber blogis. A call back to the great ponderers of ancient Greece, endlessly spinning and turning concepts and finding their various pathways. Escher in vocabulary. Then I disappear for over a week.

I like to disappoint early. It sets less threatening expectations.

Will I make every attempt to be better? Of course. Will I spend nights awake, kicking myself, for not spending the minimum 20 minutes writing something, anything at all? Absolutely. But if history is any indication (and when people use that phrase, they are telling you that it is), I will come up with many, many excuses to do anything else. Writing, in my personal world segment, is both an unquestionable necessity, and a complete and utter chore. In no other case have I been driven so furiously to do something and simultaneously found myself stretching the limits of my brain to find anything else to do.

Is this how statement of purposes were discovered? Some sort of written treatise with the self to force a change in behavior? I'm fairly certain self-help clinics, workshops, and activity books exhibit this exercise, which makes me think this whole thing has taken a terrible turn. Not any sort of correlation I was interested in making. And not at all the direction I thought it would go. Uhg.

I don't know why I'm still surprised to find that my brain is my own greatest nemesis. With superpowers and everything. The power to distract me from my own intent. How is that even possible? It's like there's another, evil me hidden inside of the greater me. A manipulative me I never knew me to be. And now I'm forced to consider the possibilities of how many mes can fit inside a me. It's a bit daunting actually.