(no subject)
A lot of blog worthy things have happened lately, but I just can't bring myself to chronicle most of it. I'm torn between wanting to document every meaningful moment to save & keep in perfect condition to pull out and adore later in all its detail, but not wanting to trivialize those moments and turn them into souvenir snow globes. Also, as I mentioned in the previous post, I've felt so very different lately, and a symptom of that seems to be an urge to remove all clutter from my life (especially odd, considering how cluttered of a person I've always been). And although I originally intended for my livejournal to keep these memories safe for when I have alzheimer's, I look back over the entries and realize it's nothing more than emotional clutter.
Most of the entries don't even spark any feelings in me when I read them. No matter how precisely I detail every moment, I can't capture the feeling. It's like trying to capture the taste of an apple by painting it. I can't even relate to most of my own words about my own life. Terribly sad.
I don't think the moments were important. The feelings were. And though I may forget the events that sparked them, I'll always carry the feelings with me. When Oma lost her memories to alzheimer's, she was still Oma. The memories didn't make her who she was. Going through those things made her into the woman she'd become, and that transcends the memories. I am who I am. Even if I don't remember eating a meal, I still grew from consuming the food.
Plus, the more detail I put in my blog, the less it seems to capture me. This really isn't who I am. Anyone who knows me well will tell you the me in real life and the me portrayed in my blog are two very different people. And it makes me look really two-faced. If all I knew of myself was what makes it into my blog, I wouldn't like me either.
We'll call this 'part 1.' Tomorrow I'll write an entry about the pro's of my blogging and continue to elaborate.
Most of the entries don't even spark any feelings in me when I read them. No matter how precisely I detail every moment, I can't capture the feeling. It's like trying to capture the taste of an apple by painting it. I can't even relate to most of my own words about my own life. Terribly sad.
I don't think the moments were important. The feelings were. And though I may forget the events that sparked them, I'll always carry the feelings with me. When Oma lost her memories to alzheimer's, she was still Oma. The memories didn't make her who she was. Going through those things made her into the woman she'd become, and that transcends the memories. I am who I am. Even if I don't remember eating a meal, I still grew from consuming the food.
Plus, the more detail I put in my blog, the less it seems to capture me. This really isn't who I am. Anyone who knows me well will tell you the me in real life and the me portrayed in my blog are two very different people. And it makes me look really two-faced. If all I knew of myself was what makes it into my blog, I wouldn't like me either.
We'll call this 'part 1.' Tomorrow I'll write an entry about the pro's of my blogging and continue to elaborate.