I was perusing this site, looking at some throwback posts; although it's against the flimsy rules of my blog, I was sorely tempted to delete some of them, the ones that make me slide down my seat in anguish, floppy hair covering my eyes as I mutter, over and over again, 'What were you THINKING?!'.
I suppose it's like looking at baby photos, or your Facebook profile from the days of yore, but since I love ANY photo taken of me, and I haven't got the luxury of Facebook any more, my blog is the only mark to go by. I don't like the fact that, and forgive me for sounding cheesy, I've invested a lot of myself in each and every post (even the ones that are three sentences long)- this is why I don't like to delete them; all of them recorded accurately, at some point, the way I was feeling.
And since everything seems to be moving so fast nowadays, I think it's important to keep hold of stuff, to remember things.
But because I've put so much of myself in each one, my style of writing changes. As I get older, as things and situations around me change, so do I, and so does my writing. This goes some way to explaining why I sounded like a gigantic SPONGE back in July of 2011, and for that I apologise profusely.
By gum though, some of those posts were hideous; they made me sit up in my chair and tell myself loudly that I needed to STOP.
How weird is it that I'll be looking at this post in two years' time and telling myself to stop again? When all I want right now is to match the pace around me, to keep moving, to keep shooting forward.
No, Beth. Stop.