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The act of putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, so easily leads me down the path of over-analysis. Perhaps that reflects the source of inspiration — fleeting thoughts that don’t warrant even a paragraph — or my inability to take an idea and flesh it out into more than drafted insecurity. Even worse: an ingrained character flaw. How easy it is to compose self-reassuring guff about life and the people who populate it, instead of coming clean with people, or simply reaching out to them. But I’ll cling to one excuse: the very technology that allows us to “connect and share” — blogs, social networks, live feeds — encourages a new kind of selfishness and disconnectedness. The sort of rubbish we post to the internet was once confined to locked diaries and private conversations held face-to-face.