Monday, January 23, 2012

I regret not having kept a better record of my thoughts regarding the world around me, focussing instead on the one inside me. Not only because the latter gets repetitive (I like that, mind), but because I sometimes struggle to remember my feelings about, say, computing in the early days. I vaguely recall amusement about wikis, for example, and more clearly remember a growing sense of discomfort with the old system being pushed aside. It strikes me that the world has changed a lot in not a lot of time, and there hasn't been nearly enough of discussion to match. I like some of the recent manifestos on the topic, but there's nothing like reminding oneself of one's own reactions to events as they unfolded.

Yet everytime I try to engage in the topic with other people, it's met with cool, logical approval of what has happened, backed up with a pretty convincing list of reasons why that is the only sane reaction. It's when this happens that I am reminded of why I never liked writing about these things. It has rarely been facts themselves that interest me, even though they are what is needed for a calm discussion. No, I seem to cast everything into an emotional issue, in this case, as with all manner of childhood souvenirs, a lament on what has been lost. I could say more, but really, that's about all there is to it. I used to suspect, and now I know, that most people place no value on such oddities. And why should they, after all? Ah, but I cannot help it. I just cannot let go so easily. I may forget specifics, but I carry a mark. When out of the blue the memory comes back, it takes some willpower to prevent a deluge inside. It feels as though as these losses are connected in some way. Even after years of training, I'm not very far off from where I started.

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