I am absolutely terrible at keeping a journal. To give you an idea of just how inconsistent I am, I am far better at blogging regularly than keeping a little personal diary, which really seems like it should be easier. First of all, I should probably be completely ashamed to say this, but sometimes writing makes my hand sore. It’s just not worth it. And secondly, I have to like sit down and take time out of my not-busy-at-all-but-still day to make a thoughtful and comprehensive journal entry. Why do that when I can just babble incoherently into my computer with the help of this convenient keyboard? Here are some excerpts from my thus far mostly empty tiny leather-bound journal (which, by the way, I started on the first day on 2013). These gems of pointlessness illustrate just how bad I am at recording the events and non-events of my life.
Moving backwards, we begin with the most recent entry, which, it’s worth noting, was written beginning on the 25th of February and moving into the wee hours of the 26th. Or possibly the 27th – the timeline, as with most things in my diary, is not entirely clear. I believe I was a bus to Adelaide during most of this time. Note my fear of being judged by my own diary.
“25.2.14. Volvo makes buses. I had no idea.”
“Later. I am distressed at the blank spaces in this journal. Will have to fill them up at some point w/ drawings. But first, must learn to draw. First things first.
On way to Adelay-de. Facing sleepless and possibly motion-sick night. Hurrah! Am infected with adventurous spirit.”
“26.2.14. No time for alarms. Too tired to write to you. Two fire alarms, many festival lights. Am drunken. Will report back tomorrow.
[X] is very sexy.
P.S. Reading Unbearable Lightness of Being for the 100th time or so. Reading Lolita for the 4th time or so. Absofuckinglutely marvelous.”
“15.2.14. My capacity for brattiness surprises even me sometimes.”
“10.2.14. Granted, I don’t have affairs much, but when I do they tend to be good.”
“29.1.13. Wily afternoon with A. in which I successfully did NOT tell him about S.’s freakish obsession with weddings, as she made me promise not to.”
”Mon, 21.1.13. MLK Day. So far I’ve been crap at keeping a diary.”
It’s worth pointing out that I record non-events more often than events. My diary is full of allusions to genuinely cool, interesting things I’ve managed to do every once in a blue moon, but no actual exposition relating these cool, interesting things. Instead, I spend 90% of my journaling talking about how long it’s been since my last entry/all the boring things I have done on the particular day of entry with various enigmatic and frustrating references to fleeting affairs and wild nights and adventurous excursions and random positive interactions that I can’t quite seem to recall in as much detail as I’d like. This is literally the exact opposite point of keeping a journal. A journal is meant to remind you of all the beautiful glorious details of the more eventful and even the little daily moments of one’s life, not to irritate its reader with vague allusions to something that happened that one time at that one place with that one person and that one disgusting bottle of grappa. I don’t care about the grappa involvement. I care about the other things!
To conclude this blog post, I will probably never change. Consider this ramble an homage to my useless, information-dry personal diary. I never stop thinking about improving my record-keeping, but alas, thinking is not the same as doing.