My collection of books (it’s called ‘a box full’ technically) has finally had a dent made in it for the first time in months since I bothered to actually read one of the papery wads of words contained within it.
Unfortunately the book I read has had that effect that so much of a certain Doctor of Journalism’s work has on me, which is to make me want to fuck it all off and do something real – something that matters.
Then again, I stand by the notion that nothing anybody does actually matters, the pursuit of wealth is a pointless undertaking and those motivated more by money than by enjoyment of what they do are idiots in the extreme.
But that’s also veering away from the concept of doing something that matters, as something that matters can indeed be something that you enjoy. For example, if I was to get a job as Superstar Broadcast Journalist Covering War And Shit, I would probably enjoy it (bar the massive fear of death and inability to speak to locals in anything other than Embarrassing Idiocy).
No point to this, I’m just thinking out loud and annoying the world with entry 618 or something, though I still have a few more catch up entries to complete, all about my time in Japan. As if it matters or you care.
They’ll come tomorrow though, because tonight I have to rest and dream of a world where anything I did mattered. Here it doesn’t, and I’ve just deleted a load of text there that was too whiny even for here.
Welcome to any newcomers – get used to this inane shit.