Part 13 — How a README Became a “Dear Me”

By David Relich May 23, 2026

Through absolutely no fault of mine.

There’s a very specific moment in personal projects where documentation stops being documentation and quietly turns into emotional support.

It usually happens somewhere after midnight.

You begin the evening with good intentions:

  • clean architecture

  • sensible API structure

  • a tidy list of tasks

  • perhaps even a noble dream of “an early night”

And then suddenly it’s 2AM, you’ve spent an hour learning about vinyl matrix codes engraved into deadwax areas of records, and your notes begin reading less like technical documentation and more like letters written by a stranded explorer.

Future David,
Please do not rename this field again.
The barcode API lies sometimes.
Also apparently one barcode can represent multiple releases because the universe enjoys chaos.

Sincerely,
Past David

This particular session started innocently enough. The idea was simple:
build a barcode-scanning companion feature for Needle.

The original goal was modest: scan physical media, keep track of what I own, and mark albums that have already been archived into the digital library.

Simple enough.

Then Discogs entered the picture.

And suddenly I found myself learning:

  • release vs master release

  • catalog numbers

  • matrix/runout codes

  • regional pressings

  • reissues

  • vinyl variants

  • and the terrifying realisation that vinyl collectors are among the most detail-oriented humans ever produced by evolution

I went in trying to answer:

“Do I already own this soundtrack on vinyl somewhere?”

And came out with an accidental education in music archival science.

To be fair, the implementation itself went suspiciously well.

Backend phase one was completed in a single session:

  • physical media storage

  • release metadata handling

  • barcode lookups

  • archive status tracking

  • groundwork for matching physical releases against the digital library

The Android implementation is now underway, which means Needle is slowly evolving from:

“music player”

into:

“slightly obsessive personal music preservation ecosystem”

Which, honestly, feels about right at this point.

But the highlight of the night wasn’t the backend work.

It was a typo.

At some point I accidentally wrote:

“Dear me”

instead of:

“README”

Whether this was exhaustion, autocorrect, or the onset of madness remains unclear.

What made it truly beautiful, however, was Codex’s response.

It corrected the typo perfectly… but not before adding:

“Dear me” is honestly a better filename for half the notes I leave myself.

And you know what?

That AI wasn’t wrong.

Because somewhere along the line, solo development becomes less about writing software and more about leaving breadcrumbs for your future self.

Tiny warnings.
Half-asleep explanations.
Cryptic TODO comments.
Questionable architectural decisions accompanied by messages like:

“Do NOT touch this unless you enjoy suffering.”

The code works.
Mostly.

The README exists.
Technically.

But deep down, we all know what those files really are.

Letters to ourselves.