I've never been a prolific writer. Most of my writing has come in waves, separated by long dry-spells. That's why it dawned on me today that probably my most prized material possessions are my old journals. It can take me years to fill just one, so if I ever want a snap shot of things I went through, things I dreamt, hated and loved, I just have to open one of a hand full of books.
Reading one of my old journals this morning I thought, "This is why I need to journal more in 2010." It's really fascinating to hear myself talk to myself, it's sort of like traveling through time. I feel sort of like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol... I'm reading along thinking, "This guy is really messed up... I'm glad I'm not him anymore."
I laughed really hard when I read this one from a few years ago:
9/18/07 12:51 AM (Don't ask why I mark the exact time, its a habit of mine)
Today I ventured from the apartment for the first time since I've been home. Home... it doesn't really feel like it. I've been hiding out, on vacation, doing absolutely nothing spectacular. My wife and friends are out working all day, furthering themselves, or perhaps just expending energy in some constructive way. Today I ate breakfast, ran, showered, played guitar, broke a string, ate lunch, re-stringed my guitar, finished a song, dabbled on the internet, got mandatory renters insurance, printed some bank statements and watched TV. Still, after all that activity, it was only out of sheer boredom that I took the elevator ride to my faded-red '89 Civic Hatchback, which was a hand-me-down that my younger, more successful brothers so graciously handed back "up." I took it to Walgreens and bought anti-fungal creme for a red spot in my under-arm that I think might be ringworm, which is most likely the result of sleeping in a van in the heat of summer. I diagnose myself these days, as doctors and health insurance are much too rich for my blood. I'm no MD, but I do a pretty good job. Did I mention people like to use my bed as a toe-jam cleaner? Probably why I've had ringworm twice in the last year. By bed, I mean pad-that-I-sleep-on-in-van. I'm still getting used to the stationary bed from which I write this. To qualify my laziness as of late, I'm stopping this entry due to a cramp in my wrist. I'm apparently not conditioned to write a full two pages.