Night time

"Briiiing the booooys back hooooome!"

Pink Floyd blasting through my speakers, as I'm all alone in my (soon to be ex) flat. There are some obvious advantages at having a place of your own...
Anyway, have just been sorting through my photos. Having gone digital a couple of years ago, I must have... around 10 gigs of photos on my hard drive.
To those of you who will start saying how, with digital, photographs stop being special, I have this to say: No.
See, the ease (?) by which you can recall old pictures, review them and create new ones out of them is unsurpassable. It has been some time since I took some of the pictures I'm looking at tonight, and I was surprised to see how different I feel like making them look, based on my current mood. And yes, messing about with photos on your computer IS part of the art of photography (my definition is not to simply capture what you see, but also to depict the emotions underlying the photograph or the photographer - it's the difference between strict realism and everything else in painting). So, with effectively the same raw materials (initial picture), one can produce an almost endless range of different images, each addressing different aspects of a theme/mood.
That's all for tonight, nothing too profound.

You got off easy this time

Here I go again

Well, I'm moving. Yet again.
I'm really getting tired of this, it's really not something I'm looking forward to. Even though my current place isn't exactly the best (well, far from it, but could be a hell of a lot better too), it's been the flat that I've stayed at the longest ever since I started living on my own. That must be... 10 months now. Wow.
I feel like I should've bought myself a caravan (or trailer house, for the Americans out there) and lived in it, and every few months just relocate. Alas, I have chosen the painful way of moving in and out and in and out and so on, so on..
I mean, come on, in the past two years I've stayed in (counting in my head) 5 different places. Statistically, that means I move out of a place after less than 5 months. I've known (heard of, at least) people that have stayed in hotels for longer, and I've definitely known someone who's spend more time in a youth hostel than I have in a proper flat.
Every single time, put my whole life in boxes and move somewhere else. Once I'm there, I don't even unpack most of my stuff, as I know I'll be moving out again shortly.
Speaking of which, my new flat is only going to be for the summer.

Great.

Do you know?

Do you know how happy I get when you post a comment on my blog?
No?
Well, neither do I, as I'm the only person posting on my blog.
Which brings me to the point... Chances are, nobody is ever going to read my blog, unless they're my friends and I tell them about it. Interestingly enough, my friends already know how I feel or what I'm thinking of, and would therefore have no reason to read my blog.
The only chance that anyone is ever going to read my blog then is (except by accident, but that doesn't really count - not to offend the random viewer, but you know) for me to tell my friends and then fall out with them, or not make contact anymore.
To summarise, the only chance that other people will read my blog is if I'm lonely.
I bet you didn't know that...

Just thinking

Well, it's kind of late to still be at work, but here I am. It's raining outside (Scottish summer on its way, right?), and I'm feeling quite moody and tired. Been working all day, will be working later on tonight as well.
I'm just thinking...
Is it really worth it? All of this? I mean, being in some country other than your own, having to put up with crappy quality of life, away from friends and family. You know what I mean. And if you don't, good for you. Honestly.
Byt yes, I'm just thinking. How would my life have been had I stayed home? Would it have been as bad as I had imagined it to be before I left? Is leaving everything behind to chase something really woth it?
Granted, I did what I wanted leaving. That's all really fine, but it's been two years now (almost), and I'm starting to lose my drive towards... what I thought I wanted? What I wanted not knowing how things would turn out?
I've never liked regreting things in my life, and (perhaps for that reason) I'm not going to say that I regret ending up where I am now. It's just that when it's the end of May, it's raining and it's cold outside, and most of the things and people you care about are out of your reach, you can't help it.
That's all for now. Just thinking...