Life in the mildly uncomfortable spinny-computer-chair-thingy, part 1

Oh, wow, I didn't know about this 'subscription' feature to other blogs before. Shows how long my other blogs lasted. I think that this is already my longest one thus far! Anyhow, after subscribing to my favourite music download blogs (or 'following' them, as is the blogspot term for it), I was hoping that some people could recommend me some other blogs if you're reading. Probably not download blogs; I do that for myself, but blogs that are interesting to read, and/or funny. If anyone's reading this, of course.

God, that's a lot of use of the word 'blog'. Which leads me to question: when did the term come about? I imagine that these were done long before they were titled, probably known as 'internet diaries' or some such more accurate description. And why the word 'blog'? You can see where 'vlog' comes from, and I suppose it's probably derived from b-something log. Does anyone have any answers for me, or am I to be left languishing in my own ignorance that brings back memories of first starting to use MSN... just a few months back. I may drag up some of the old conversations, as I remember them being charming in their naivite (think 'W.O.W.! How do you make that smile picture? It's the best thing since sliced bread!') (okay maybe not quite to that extent, given that I was already a 'seasoned veteran' of the Facebook aspect, the social networking aspect if you like, of internet 'culture').

You can probably imagine, reading my previous post, that this is another detour from my hectic *nose doubles in length* revision schedule. It's got to the stage where I'm calling Hitler selfish - not for massacring Jews to pay dividend to his own bigoted views, but rather for creating all this stupid stuff I have to learn - and laughing at little quirky maths things ('hahaha three and one seventh is relatively close to pi') that really shouldn't be entertaining enough to make me laugh like a heavily caffeinated chimpanzee.

So I end this post with the thought that I really ought to see a psychologist, and quite possibly an expensive one, not so much to see if I have any problems, but rather to make me feel comfortable, what with lying on a leather sofa, in the lap of luxurious denial, and possibly having a quick forty winks on my loooong (hopefully) path to senility.

I'm too young to have a midlife crisis, surely?