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Journal: Reconfiguration

Journal: Adventure Time | Ses Rêveries

Face lifts, butt lifts... blog lifts?

Upon close inspection of this blog (... OK, "inspection" is a strong word, it really only takes a gander), my decision to revamp SesRevs and drive this blog-truck in yet another direction should come as no surprise. While I will forever argue to the contrary in conversation for the sake of spite, I cannot honestly deny that my decision making skills have but one simple motion: harmonic.

One minute, I absolutely adore so-and-so. The next, I really can't stand to look at/listen to so-so, and everything that reminds me of so-and-so joins so-and-so on my never-ending blacklist, alongside Westlife* and Clint Eastwood**. I can't help it. The heart wants what the heart wants until it overdoses and loses interest, as the adage goes.

Journal: Reconfiguration | Ses Rêveries

Once a place to vent and comment on whatever tickled my fancy - mostly to myself - this blog slowly but surely became a digital prison with high expectations for shackles and cold reality checks for dinner. I couldn't keep up with the deadlines I'd set myself, I couldn't manage the inbox I'd more or less invited people to send e-mails to, I couldn't even sign into Sound Cloud without my stomach churning at the number of new releases I'd missed and had to quickly formulate opinions about to keep up... or did I?

As much as I enjoy writing about music, "click-bait blogging" was not what I wanted to do. And yet, I'd somehow fallen into it without even realising.

Journal: Reconfiguration | Ses Rêveries

For many months after apprehension dawned, my solution was to take the "whatever, whenever" approach in hopes that I would fall into some kind of rhythm. The result: juvenile waffling, regular inconsistencies and broken promises. So I had two options: start over or stop blogging.

The latter meant I would have nothing else in my life but uni, TV and meat feast pizza. As tempting as that was, I much preferred when my procrastination three-some was peppered with false feelings of productivity earned from "working" on this blog. Plus, starting over meant I could rid myself of the bane of my entire blogging existence: the old URL. It was like a red-hot metal rod being pressed into my flesh every time I saw it. But unlike my equally-as-embarrassing Facebook URL from childhood mistakes past, I could at least change this one.

So now here we are at - a new URL, a new layout and I feel much better already. Just like that. A newfound wave of inspiration has hit the shores and I am all too ready to surf (figuratively speaking, of course; I can barely swim). New is always better. Although, I have chosen to retain the annual hiatus-selfie custom.

I suddenly feel like the blog is headed in a direction, despite the fact that I will not be deleting the old content. "Started from the bottom", and all that. I'm not particularly interested in where this direction is pointing or where it stands on the right/wrong spectrum line; my admittedly minuscule blip on the blogging radar is going somewhere and, as long as I don't pull a Lady Leshurr***, that's good enough for me.

I am curious to hear what you think about it though so stay tuned and see for yourself, the direct product of focused procrastination.

Journal: Reconfiguration | Ses Rêveries

design/photography by me


**Blame my father. His obsession with Western films not only ruined my childhood (even tumbleweed stirs a knee-jerk sneer), but my appreciation for a cinematic legend. Despite being unable to see the screen when I eventually forced myself to watch it thanks to the foreign liquid in my eyes, I scoff at every mention of American Sniper's Oscar nomination worthiness and have vowed not to watch The Longest Ride in cinema. I adore Britt Robertson and can't deny the Eastwood offspring is (very) easy on the eyes. But direct descendants are unfortunately not exempt from the haterade. Fortunately, I can count on my film critic sister to get it on DVD so I'll just have to wait to secretly die of thirst then.

***The shade shall be justified: ruining a banging tune, nullifying one's own wavy word play with some nonsense about brushing teeth - with actual toothbrushes making cameos - is criminal. Enough said.

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