To be perfectly frank with you, dear reader, I sometimes feel like I’m running out of things to write about on this ‘ere blog.

It’s not true at all, of course — there’s always something to write about, however niche interest it might be. But on more than one occasion I’ve sat down to write and wondered if it was really worth talking about the thing I feel like talking about. My usual response to this particular mental block is just to say “fuck it” and write it anyway, with the usual disclaimer that anything I write here is my own personal opinion and does not reflect the opinions of etc. etc. you know the drill from a million and one Twitter bios.

I do sometimes question why I’m still writing this. This is the 1,260th day since I started writing something on this blog every single day, and my reasons for writing have changed considerably over that time.

Actually, I’m not sure that’s entirely true; my reasons for writing here have always been nothing more noble than “for personal satisfaction” and “to have something interesting to do”. My feelings towards the things I’m writing have obviously changed in parallel with my life situation at various times, however: when I first started blogging daily, I was still working in teaching and having a thoroughly miserable time; this then proceeded through my 2010 trip to PAX East, a mini-vacation that I maintain is one of the most carefree, happy times I’ve ever experienced; through the breakup of my marriage; the general collapse of my life as a whole and the subsequent rebuilding thereof.

I find it quite interesting to look back every so often and see the course my life has taken, whether that’s through manually navigating to fondly-remembered posts — yes, even with 1,260 daily posts, I still have specific favourites and can usually navigate to them fairly quickly — or clicking the “Random Post” button at the top of the screen.

One thing I have found is that I was at my most creative when I was at my most miserable. I won’t lie to you, dear reader, I most certainly haven’t shaken off the Black Dog of depression by any means, but I’m a lot better than the emotional wreck I was during the downfall of my marriage. But while I have absolutely no desire to return to those dark days, I do find it intriguing that I found it a lot easier to come up with creative, funny, off-the-wall posts when I was suffering. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism: putting up a barrier around the pain I was feeling in an attempt to not “bring down” everyone around me; perhaps it was just a way of attempting to make myself feel better. I don’t know. Whatever it was, I miss it in a perverse sort of way; the flashes of inspiration I had in those days don’t come quite as often as they once did.

Said flashes of inspiration were three years ago, though, so it’s entirely possible that I’m just older and wiser(?) or, at the very least, just older. I don’t really feel that different, though; perhaps it’s a subtle thing. The evidence is there, after all.

Anyway, I’ve pontificated for long enough about nothing at all, but at least it’s given me an entry for today. I am tired now. I think it is time to go to sleep. Good night!