A Bug's Life

I went up in the loft last week, and one of the things I found was my teenage diary. I remembered pouring angst into its pages, back in the days before we knew it was called angst and part of the human condition. It wasn't even good angst; I hadn't had much practice and there weren't the sheaves of examples from PostSecret and LiveJournal and the like on which to hone my tortured soul. I opened it with some trepidation to find - that my 25-year old self had carefully cut out all the angst pages. An excellent decision :-) It still has the accounts of my 1991 trip to the US in the back, down to the $1.37 I spent on a jacket potato at the airport before going home. I don't think I had as much as $1.50 left by that point.

... mainly because it started out of nowhere and I can't figure out how to turn it off.

I can't deny it's much quicker than ordinary texting, but in all my wordplay I've never come across anything like the way agonies turn into binary and become chocolate as you type, the earlier characters changing to reflect new/now forbidden possibilities imposed by the later. There must be something in this...