On Nothing
I've realised I haven't written here for quite a long while. Not that I couldn't be bothered (maybe that's half the reason), but more because things that have been going on around me are not really worth writing about.
Of late I've been spending my time that might have been put to restoring my vitality (read:sleep) on other issues such as reading. Reading. I used to read a lot when I was young. That was maybe ten years ago. I read everything I could read. Fiction, non-fiction. Yea, mainly non-fiction. Oh yes, I read all the $3.90 Enid Blyton books, those with titles like "The Angry Gnome and Other Stories", I read about the Famous Five and their exploits, about the solar system, I read the Lone Wolf game book series by Joe Dever.
Then suddenly, I stopped reading, for some reason I am not quite sure of myself. And so it was, until recently, when out of necessity (I found that sometimes we really had nothing to do in the bunk), I started reading again. And now, I have rediscovered the joy in reading. Yea.
I think the army changes people.
I feel vaguely out-of-sorts, as if I'm going through some strange process of metamorphosis, one that can be likened to a caterpillar weaving a cocoon and keeping itself shut inside it, releasing itself only when the time is right. And voila, a most brilliant butterfly (assuming that caterpillar was not a moth caterpillar) emerges from within its prison, where it spent its time in transformation.
I think the army could be that cocoon.
I think I think too much.
I've realised I haven't written here for quite a long while. Not that I couldn't be bothered (maybe that's half the reason), but more because things that have been going on around me are not really worth writing about.
Of late I've been spending my time that might have been put to restoring my vitality (read:sleep) on other issues such as reading. Reading. I used to read a lot when I was young. That was maybe ten years ago. I read everything I could read. Fiction, non-fiction. Yea, mainly non-fiction. Oh yes, I read all the $3.90 Enid Blyton books, those with titles like "The Angry Gnome and Other Stories", I read about the Famous Five and their exploits, about the solar system, I read the Lone Wolf game book series by Joe Dever.
Then suddenly, I stopped reading, for some reason I am not quite sure of myself. And so it was, until recently, when out of necessity (I found that sometimes we really had nothing to do in the bunk), I started reading again. And now, I have rediscovered the joy in reading. Yea.
I think the army changes people.
I feel vaguely out-of-sorts, as if I'm going through some strange process of metamorphosis, one that can be likened to a caterpillar weaving a cocoon and keeping itself shut inside it, releasing itself only when the time is right. And voila, a most brilliant butterfly (assuming that caterpillar was not a moth caterpillar) emerges from within its prison, where it spent its time in transformation.
I think the army could be that cocoon.
I think I think too much.
