I’m a bit worried about this blogging thing - I think it may have the potential to bring out the worst in me. I’ve been looking through some of my old journals (the paper and ink variety) and they are excruciatingly awful. Seriously. Cringeworthy does not even begin to describe some of the things I have scribbled in diaries over the years.
Given my track record, plastering my musings all over the Internet seems a little unwise. It’s too easy – you just click the mouse and your words are instantly displayed in a public space. I’m an impulsive person, and I have been known to write things I later regret. I’m sure my father and I would both be happier if he hadn’t come across a few intimate details about my sex life... then there's the ex-girlfriend of mine who has a disturbing habit of trawling through archives and digging out embarrassing things I posted to newsgroups when I was young and foolish and didn’t realise that my words would be engraved in cyberspace forever.
The other issue is that I’m prone to bouts of intense depression, which gets a bit tedious after about seven pages... believe me.
And of course, there’s the whole procrastination thing. Like, right now, I should be doing an essay. But I’m kinda getting frustrated. I was trying to find out how many Maori MPs are women, and compare the numbers in Maori and general seats, which was hopefully going to back up one of my arguments. Unfortunately I can’t work out which MPs are Maori. They don’t make them wear a patch on their sleeves or something. There are supposed to be 19, and so far I’ve come up with 15. So I can’t use that argument, which means I’ve just wasted several hours searching the Internet for nothing. *Sigh.*
I’m going to go and make hot chocolate to cheer myself up.