Not sure why I'm writing

It's funny, but I really don't know why I keep this blog any more.  When I started it my objective was to get to know myself better, and I've done that, which is good.  But now it feels kind of pointless to write in here because I'm always saying more of the same.  This week I stayed with Todd's family.  I cleaned my room and read this book, it was rather good.  Tada.

I dunno, it just feels like what I'm writing isn't particularly relevant to anything.  On the other hand, do we ever stop getting to know ourselves?  Is there ever a time when we feel like we know everything we think, say, and do?  I don't think we can, we are constantly shaped by the things around us; our environment, what we read, the conversations we have, the places we go.  We're in a world that's constantly changing and the only thing we can really do is to change with it.  And on and on forever.  And I think, right here in this tiny corner of the Internet, that great, vast electronic system that connects us all together, am I really writing anything worth reading?  Will it stay here forever, do my words have value?  And yes, I think all words have value.  So I keep writing, and keep wondering why I'm doing it.  So it goes on.

Life is the strangest thing.  I just finished reading "The Gift" by Cecelia Ahern last night, and wow - I highly recommend it for the message it puts across.  It's quite a quick, simple read, but it's powerful.  Again, shaping.

I've nearly finished my first painting of the year.  I'll post a picture of it when it's done.  Laters.