Me and my words.

I typed out a long rant yesterday about something that has since become insignificant. Or rather, I have since realized its insignificance.

I was about to post it on my blog from my mobile, but just then a call came in and I accidentally deleted the entire thing. My initial reaction was, of course, complete outrage at myself for the amount of effort gone down the drain. But I couldn't summon the energy or the feeling to write it up again, so it didn't get posted in the end. I'm that kind of person; when I write, I follow the flow of my emotions (usually ending in melancholy) and by the time I've finished the final paragraph, I've released all my emotions in the words and I no longer feel the same as when I wrote the first lines. My emotional state vacillates a lot. I get influenced a little too easily.

So you can imagine that when I thought back about what I had written, I suddenly felt glad that I hadn't posted it after all. It was quite pathetic, on hindsight - the whole thing reeked of petulant whining and melodrama. When I think back on it, it was a shallow, thoughtless rant that came to no conclusions and sounded like a thirteen-year-old's desperate attempt to draw attention to the heinous drama in their life. In a way, it was a manipulative bitch of a rant, taking ordinary truth and phrasing it in ways that tried to hint tantalizingly at something serious and interesting. The equivalent, forgive me, of a young teenager posting statuses on Facebook about heartbreak and love when you know for a fact that they have never even experienced either. Not quite the same, but equally foolish.

I've thought up a theory that I should test. The next time I feel worked up about something and decide to rant about it on my blog or journal... When I finish the piece, I should always hit Save Draft first. If I still feel the same way a day later, I'll publish the post.

I am not always easygoing, or reasonable, or open-minded. But I try very hard to be.