The joy of posting my random thoughts
I have started upwards of 10 journals/diaries in my life. Each time I swear I'll keep up with it, not necessarily as an exact chronicle of the events of my life, but as a place to keep my thoughts and feelings.
I have plenty of thoughts and feelings - some I don't even mind sharing - but the thing is...I'm kinda lazy.
And beyond that I start to think about - what if my descendents find this after I'm dead and are like 'great grandma was a fruitbat who thought about sex way too much'
Of course, I'll be dead so I won't care. So of I'm going to leave something for posterity, it won't be a journal full of my witty observations. At best people will find half filled notebooks full of Who porn interdispersed with proclamataions such as:
Welsh Corgis are the cutest dogs in creation. I would have a herd of them if I could.
Why am I that 0.1% of the population who will suffer constipation as a side effect of a nasal spray?
I am 33 years old and I cannot walk up the basement stairs without glancing behind me at least once to make sure I'm not being stalked by the morlocks the surely live in the corner by the sump pump.
I miss the Mr. Bulky candy store because it was the one place I could reliably find gummy grapefruit slices.
See- not exactly Anais Nin, is it?
I have plenty of thoughts and feelings - some I don't even mind sharing - but the thing is...I'm kinda lazy.
And beyond that I start to think about - what if my descendents find this after I'm dead and are like 'great grandma was a fruitbat who thought about sex way too much'
Of course, I'll be dead so I won't care. So of I'm going to leave something for posterity, it won't be a journal full of my witty observations. At best people will find half filled notebooks full of Who porn interdispersed with proclamataions such as:
Welsh Corgis are the cutest dogs in creation. I would have a herd of them if I could.
Why am I that 0.1% of the population who will suffer constipation as a side effect of a nasal spray?
I am 33 years old and I cannot walk up the basement stairs without glancing behind me at least once to make sure I'm not being stalked by the morlocks the surely live in the corner by the sump pump.
I miss the Mr. Bulky candy store because it was the one place I could reliably find gummy grapefruit slices.
See- not exactly Anais Nin, is it?