One of the things I found annoying about work is that blogging is a bitch. I reguarly think “Ooh, I’m going to blog about this, this, this and this, as soon as I get home from work.”. Then, you get home from work, situations change, and your masterpiece that would be nominated for every concievable bloggie possible is ruined.
I’ve had it twice in two days.
Yesterday’s entry was a lot more emotional, and less about Big Brother. I originally wrote it as quite hateful, and said a lot of things about people which I felt was harsh. So I tore it up and wrote a more blog friendly one.
Today I was going to write about the emotional struggle I was having on growing a beard. I kinda let it grow to the “more than bumfluff” stage (hadn’t shaved since the wedding a few weeks ago) recently, due to my distinct chances of not getting laid. I was thinking about trying it, just because I had no reason to shave it off, had enough of the Eugene bollocks, and I was thinking of trying a new look. Alas, this wasn’t to be the case, as I – if my subconcious was saying “don’t be fucking stupid Rhys” – shave it off.
So, instead of talking about beards, I’m talking about shaving off beards. I suppose I’m becoming more mature now (as – if you watch Dave Gorman, you’ll know a beard will eventually lead to matureness). I mean, I’ve spent all evening writing my CV (posted on my other site), for christ sakes.
Then again, how can you define maturity if all you can talk about is shaving beards?