LiVE JoUrNAL ReBooT
The thought of restarting my live journal account brings up a variety of mixed feelings. I've found myself very scatterbrained as of late, unable to read through news stories fully and unable to maintain coherent thought without day dreaming or having my mind drift to some unrelated event. My mind was never this lackadaisical before, and while I believe I know the root of the cause I need to reverse it. My thought is that writing in a journal, on a regular basis, will at allow me to once again bring logical consistency, and peace, to my mind.
The downside to revisiting live journal is the inevitable task of drudging through the past. I suppose I could just ignore all prior entries and continue on but even live journal userids bring back memories. 'Friends' that I never really knew, and wouldn't recall had I not seen their name, bring back solemn memories - thoughts about what they’re doing now, how they are, and why we fell out of touch. Honestly, we were never really in touch to begin with but I think this all plays off my irrational fear of being left alone, or having the world move on without me. Something about seeing a ‘Friends’ last entry dated 2011 just brings an unsettling feeling of mortality, of isolation, of aloneness…
I clicked through a few journal entries and found myself enumerated with my previous writing - "This guy gets me! This guy understands me!" I think there is something to be said for liking your own writing and the thought that I could be friends with myself brings a soft smile to my face. That being said, there are also plenty of entries and time periods in which I see what a fool I was. It just so happened, that within a few clicks, I arrived at a journal entries that was 12 years ago to the day ( 01OCT2019). It was about /Ashley. While I admire the writing style, and the vain teenage love and admiration, I realize now how foolish, stupid and idiotic I was. I think many of my past entries present an interesting story, and an intriguing writing style, but nevertheless a story I wish belonged to someone else.
And that wish is what brings me to the entry of today. I pondered the notion of a twelve year old entry and asked myself what happened in those twelve years? Well, I'm not sure. I suppose I've never looked back at those twelve years coherently and tried to map it all out. Some pretty traumatic events occurred that underscored my foolishness and perhaps if revisit those events then my current situation may start to make more sense. I think the effort of looking back is one that needs careful methodical calculation. As I type this out I'm flooded with random memories, and images, that really don't lend credence to any coherent story. While the story of the past twelve years is plagued by uncertainty, one thing is for certain: if have no doubt my writing skills have significantly diminished due to being out of school and lack of effort. Rather than shy away from writing under the pretense that my new entries won't hold up to the standards of the past, it's probably best to just throw out the words and if the quality, and substance, of the journal takes a significant drop then so be it. I often found the inability to live up to one's own expectations is a significant hurdle in writing and as a result my journal contains vast periods of silence. Though, failing to live up to expectations is not the only reason for lack of entries. I think like so many times you merely get caught up with the drudgery of life and forget to formulate a coherent plan or long term strategy: I just need to take tonight off, Tuesday is always taco night, Thursday is kickball night, I just need to walk the park tonight - a thousand nights forfeited to vanishing needs of the moment.
The downside to revisiting live journal is the inevitable task of drudging through the past. I suppose I could just ignore all prior entries and continue on but even live journal userids bring back memories. 'Friends' that I never really knew, and wouldn't recall had I not seen their name, bring back solemn memories - thoughts about what they’re doing now, how they are, and why we fell out of touch. Honestly, we were never really in touch to begin with but I think this all plays off my irrational fear of being left alone, or having the world move on without me. Something about seeing a ‘Friends’ last entry dated 2011 just brings an unsettling feeling of mortality, of isolation, of aloneness…
I clicked through a few journal entries and found myself enumerated with my previous writing - "This guy gets me! This guy understands me!" I think there is something to be said for liking your own writing and the thought that I could be friends with myself brings a soft smile to my face. That being said, there are also plenty of entries and time periods in which I see what a fool I was. It just so happened, that within a few clicks, I arrived at a journal entries that was 12 years ago to the day ( 01OCT2019). It was about /Ashley. While I admire the writing style, and the vain teenage love and admiration, I realize now how foolish, stupid and idiotic I was. I think many of my past entries present an interesting story, and an intriguing writing style, but nevertheless a story I wish belonged to someone else.
And that wish is what brings me to the entry of today. I pondered the notion of a twelve year old entry and asked myself what happened in those twelve years? Well, I'm not sure. I suppose I've never looked back at those twelve years coherently and tried to map it all out. Some pretty traumatic events occurred that underscored my foolishness and perhaps if revisit those events then my current situation may start to make more sense. I think the effort of looking back is one that needs careful methodical calculation. As I type this out I'm flooded with random memories, and images, that really don't lend credence to any coherent story. While the story of the past twelve years is plagued by uncertainty, one thing is for certain: if have no doubt my writing skills have significantly diminished due to being out of school and lack of effort. Rather than shy away from writing under the pretense that my new entries won't hold up to the standards of the past, it's probably best to just throw out the words and if the quality, and substance, of the journal takes a significant drop then so be it. I often found the inability to live up to one's own expectations is a significant hurdle in writing and as a result my journal contains vast periods of silence. Though, failing to live up to expectations is not the only reason for lack of entries. I think like so many times you merely get caught up with the drudgery of life and forget to formulate a coherent plan or long term strategy: I just need to take tonight off, Tuesday is always taco night, Thursday is kickball night, I just need to walk the park tonight - a thousand nights forfeited to vanishing needs of the moment.