Time to go to bed
The huge project I've been tinkering with during the evenings this week is starting to take shape. What started as a disconnected jumble of bits and pieces is slowly assembling itself into a bizarre machine that Heath Robinson would probably have been quite proud of. There's a perverse reckoning when it comes to software development – the better job you do, the less people notice.
I'm trying not to think about what comes next – building the whole damn thing again in a completely different programming language. I won't get into why, because it will trigger a huge existential debate about sever side and client side web development that I really don't think anybody is that interested in.
I nearly knocked my mug of tea over just then. Obviously you didn't see it, because you're reading this – not watching me – so I don't know why I'm telling you anyway. I tend to put the mug full of whatever I'm drinking inbetween my arms while working at the computer. Usually it's fine, but then you scratch an itch, or adjust your clothes, or reach for your bag – and somehow your brain has erased the mug from existence for a moment or two. Either that, or I'm just incredibly clumsy sometimes.
Clumsy is a strange word, isn't it – an odd collection of letters that don't really go together. Again, I have no idea why this just occurred to me – let alone why I'm writing about it.
Perhaps it's time to go to bed – before I start wittering on about some other inconsequential rubbish. I reckon three quarters of my blog posts must be made up of this sort of stuff – freewheeling detritus. You might make the analogy of most writers being in control of powerful horses pulling ploughs through untilled earth – ripping the dirt into neat rows. My horse bolted some time ago – that's me you can see, being dragged through a hedge two fields away, with a crazily snaking line ripped through the dirt behind me.