(no subject)

I don't know what made me think I'd use this, any more than I have done my paper journal. I took it with me to Weymouth and never even opened it. The last two entries were made at Weymouth--in September, and in March before that. Apparently my life has been either too boring to write about, or two intense to write during the crises. I've always journaled after the fact, after events have unfolded, after the reactions, after things have been mulled and sorted. I think journaling is a way of final winnowing and chronicling, a post-event dialogue with myself, a fact-check, or actually, rather a spin-check, to see how my conscious intends to catalogue and record what's happened. My version.

In any case, I haven't done it, for more than a year. The shelf of journal volumes, dating back more than ten years, with no gaps till last year, mocks me. And still I don't journal. I open the book, poise the pen, and zippo, zilch, zero.

And if I can't journal, how much harder is it to make stuff up? It's gotten beyond scary, and I've stopped self-identifying as a writer. Because, at bottom, writers write. And apparently, I don't, anymore.

(no subject)

I don't know what made me think I'd use this, any more than I have done my paper journal. I took it with me to Weymouth and never even opened it. The last two entries were made at Weymouth--in September, and in March before that. Apparently my life has been either too boring to write about, or two intense to write during the crises. I've always journaled after the fact, after events have unfolded, after the reactions, after things have been mulled and sorted. I think journaling is a way of final winnowing and chronicling, a post-event dialogue with myself, a fact-check, or actually, rather a spin-check, to see how my conscious intends to catalogue and record what's happened. My version.

In any case, I haven't done it, for more than a year. The shelf of journal volumes, dating back more than ten years, with no gaps till last year, mocks me. And still I don't journal. I open the book, poise the pen, and zippo, zilch, zero.

And if I can't journal, how much harder is it to make stuff up? It's gotten beyond scary, and I've stopped self-identifying as a writer. Because, at bottom, writers write. And apparently, I don't, anymore.