I'm realising something about editing my own work. Actually, to be fair, I think I am realising something about myself.
As I reread what I wrote months and months ago, I find that my head goes to all sorts of weird places and remembers what I was reading at the time, who I was talking to, what was important to me. In chapter three alone, I already found references to T.S. Eliot, my wonderful student-engineer partner, my editor at the uni newspaper's editorial column. It's sporadic to say the least, but it's also wonderful. I don't think I've ever found such a clear insight into my own head. It feels like no matter who I try to be, the real me will always come out in my writing.
I have also learnt that I use too many commas. That's an inherited problem apparently.