Rambling

When you look back into your past at the people you once new, the situations you were once in, the places you once frequented, and the things you once did, how exactly do you feel? Do you feel sad? Angry? Regretful? Revolted?

Something the Victorian education system failed to teach me is that history is important; it tells you where you've been, who you are now, and where you're going. Without history, we'd all be moronic shells, bumping into the same problems we never knew existed and never really going anywhere new.

Lately I've been in a very retrospective mood. Most people would tell me that I'm living in the past and it's time to move on and look forwards into the future, however my personal “balance philosophy” tells me that a little retrospection is a good thing. (I will write about that later, in great detail, I promise Steve!)

People don't seem to realise that computer programming is an artistic discipline rather than procedural office work. Those outside of the field would probably scoff at that remark, after they've put together a pivot table within excel. Just because you can cook doesn't make you a chef.

Your average manager fails to understand the difference between someone within an artistic job and someone with a procedural job — the difference being that to accomplish their goal one designs and constructs while the other follows list of tasks. Just because you're a mechanic doesn't make you an automotive engineer.

Sleep is one of my most favourite things.

When I don't sleep I tend to lose my ability to multi-task and eventually I get stuck in an infinite loop — like a record skipping — on singular topics that honestly never seem to reach any formal conclusion other than to recursively become ever-more circuitous than would otherwise be necessary, and ultimately the introduction of some form of interruption is usually the only thing that can put an end to my redundant cogitation, forcing my brain to return to functioning with syllogism; and in my current state of excessive verbosity would compel me to stop writing this esoteric yet amaranthine dissertation that I nonsensically continue to slowly dribble into this post painfully like a daydreaming slug slithering through a dry salt pond and onwards towards oblivion…