I feel that I've been unfair to myself all these years. When I write, it's a snapshot of a moment in time. The problem is, the inclination to write is usually a result of a situation in which I am either emotionally distressed or bored. Well, I've noticed that, over the years, I've been left a chronicle of snapshots of times when I was depressed or restless. Since I don't write when I'm happy, I never write happy things, and so, when I or others read my writings, they get the feeling that I'm an exceedingly morose person, which simply isn't the case. I guess it's just a consequence of the way I think. I should start writing when I'm in a good mood, to balance out the memories of myself that my writings leave behind.

So, an idea occured to me today. When something is sharpened, it becomes more useful and effective; in effect, it is more refined. But the sharpening process involves shearing off fragments of the blade, essentially grinding off the excess until only a keen edge remains. I was thinking that life is the same way, and that the process of maturing, of learning and becoming an expert in a field, of becoming a refined person, is actually not only a process of adding to ones self, as is usually assumed, but also of grinding ones self down, even as life itself is grinding us down as well. The trick is, you have to grind yourself down first, because while your grinding is constructive in its destruction, the erosion and rust of life brings only ruin. It's a race to destroy yourself before entrophy and absurdity can do it for you. It's agonizing either way, but if you do it yourself at least you'll be a worthy and productive person.

Thoughts?