Since College, I always had this weird compulsion to write down thoughts - on the pages of books I was reading, on stationeries, on countless notebooks bought for the purpose of starting a personal chronicle. Some of the notebooks I still have to this day, and quite frankly, most of them do not even have more than 3 pages of stuff written. It's not a good idea for one to read stuff written years ago unless he has this overwhelming desire to laugh at one's self or to feel extremely foolish, but sometimes I do come across the notebooks and I...well, I cringe and get almost hysterical. I mean...what was I thinking then? So what do I have to show for those years of pure intentions? A trail of unfinished writings - gooey, yucky, icky, idiotic ramblings that are best cast off to the memory bin and blamed on youth. And thus, I get this sense of... i don't know... being unfinished.
I hope to be able to figure out how to work this blogging thing out. If someone is actually reading this... give me a break. Am not even on the starting line yet.