Crud, I've already referenced Shakespeare in a title

I really need to stop doing these so late. Skippy (who I'm convinced is the only one who actually reads these) says they're good or funny and if I prod the people around me in Computing enough, they mumble their amusement. Still, I feel like I could be doing much better but, alas, not tonight. For you see it is now, as I type this, almost 20 to 12, meaning I have 20 minutes to come up with a topic, write it and upload if I am to adhere to challenge.exe. See that? That was self-referencing. I hope to do it a lot more once I've built up a bit more self to reference.

Anyway, the reason for my lateness tonight is a fairly simple one. English homework. More specifically, an essay on Act 3, Scene 3 of ((Othello)) detailing the techniques used my Iago to manipulate the titular character and his subsequent change in personality. Sounds dull, doesn't it? It's not aided by the fact that I was off school the day we were told what to do and by the fact that it was technically due on Monday. Various circumstances have allowed me to keep putting it off till tonight, when I dutifully spent several hours alternating between typing a paragraph, reading a webcomic (added about three or four more newish ones to my big list of ones that I check for updates and I'm in the middle of another's archives) and just generally slacking off.

All this has led me to one conclusion. I don't like writing. Nobody does, or at least nobody should. I like thinking. I can come up with ideas for comic strips, blog posts, essays on Shakespearean literature, who knows what else, but I very rarely sit down to type it all up, because the process is quite a tedious one to me.

Perhaps it's more the tedium of the subject as I find myself enjoying this little mini-essay of my own topic to be more enjoyable than any essay that's ever really been directly assigned to me for any purpose.

Then again, perhaps it's simply the principle of the thing. I consider myself as having taken procrastination to the level of an art form. I can put off anything until the last minute and still, quite amazingly and in ways I don't quite understand, pull it off. Usually. I get the impression that this English essay, put off too long after having read the section, may be a load of drivel. Of course, I believe that about every English I've ever written, I've just normally managed to write drivel that matches up with the drivel on the answer grid.

I'm really not a huge fan of English as a subject. It seems that I'm very often looking for meaning in passages and sentences where there are none, assigning oceans of depth to puddles of mediocrity and giving words far more weight than they can possibly bare.

I could rant and rave on my problems with English lessons and teaching for hours and, assuming I don't have any more essays for a little while, I may well do at some point. For now, suffice it to say that I consider Skippy, the only one in our year to have completely dropped all things English, a wise and lucky bastard.

Actually, I've come to a conclusion, a curious thing for me to do. I like this whole, train of though, writing whatever pops into my head style of writing. With any luck I can develop the whole writing scripts thing because, as I've said an embarrassing number of times before, I do want to write this blasted comic. I hate writing that someone else has told me to do, that doesn't make sense to me and that isn't about something I enjoy. Thinking back over the years, most of the best writing I've ever done at school was on a topic I either picked or enjoyed.

Crud, 5 minutes to. Time to wrap this up, methinks. If anybody but Skippy reads this, write a comment. If Skippy reads this, write an actual blog post, you wise, lucky, lazy bastard.