I don't think I ever spoke about it here, but I don't particularly enjoy the writing process. In all honestly, I don't really like reading, neither.
Yet I like to learn, so I'm forced to read, and I believe things need to be expressed that aren't said elsewhere, so I'm compelled to write.
In the last couple of weeks, I've bought more books than I have time to read, while checking out some books from the library to boot. My own irrational behaviour puzzled me, until I realised I was feeling particularly anxious and troubled by the world. Ever since I was a child, I've tried to soothe my worries by gaining knowledge, and a greater comprehension would often lead to me to feel separated from the rest of the world. This isolation led me to seek a greater understanding and that greater understanding would make me feel more isolated.
So, for this, my 200th post on this blog, let me paraphrase the lament uttered by Fat Bastard in Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me:
I read because I'm unhappy.
I'm unhappy because I read.
It's a vicious cycle.
