I’ve got the clean-out bug and have been going through some old journals lately. I’ve got dozens. My sister’s been tasked as the executor of my will (and Destroyer of Anything Incriminating) should she outlive me (let’s face it: when you compare our eating and exercise habits, that’s almost a certainty). When I die, there will be such a bonfire from the journals alone that she’ll need a permit.
Anyway, I never read the journals after I write in them because, on paper, I find myself pretty boring. No matter what age I am, each entry is some variation of “Hello, God. How are you? I am fine.” At 8 years old, it’s cute. At 17, it’s self-absorbed. At 35, it’s self-indulgent.
I know! I should start a blog so I can burble all day long!
I don’t know why one day a few weeks ago I felt it necessary to pull the journals out, stack them in order and start scanning; all I know is, it’s something I had to do. And this is some of what I read:
July 30, 1992 – I quit the truck stop today because I’m headed off for Ambassador College in 2 weeks. I remember when I first started working there. God, I was sooooo innocent! [I was all of 18, here.]
January 30, 1993 – The other night there was a basketball game in the gym. It was a good game, but the attitudes of the other team were AWFUL. In the first few seconds of the game after they scored, their visitors threw TP (toilet paper) on our court. Can you believe it? I turned to my friend and said, “Can you believe it?”
October 3, 1995 – Well, I’m staring at this blank page and trying to think of pithy, profound things to record so I will at least find myself interesting years down the road, but I don’t think I will.
This is not Pulitzer-worthy stuff, folks.
It’s slow going. I can only read for 5-10 minutes before I have to take a break, go stick my head in the toilet and flush.
But un-interestingly enough, it turns out that I have the same problems I did 5…6…10…15 years ago. It’s disheartening the number of fears and angst that I have not yet prevailed over, despite many productive years on my therapist’s couch. Either I need to get a new therapist (not happening; she’s doing her best, for Pete’s sake; you try shrinking this head!), or a new couch (I still have the one I bought when I lived in East Texas in 1998, if you can believe that), or I need to get a new set of problems.
<checks out FB, IG, Twitter and the news>
After a thorough review of some of the problems out there, I will stick with the ones I have, thank you veddy much!
So it’s a good thing overall, that I don’t have any new issues, don’t you think? I’m holding steady on the ones I have, and that's not bad. Onward. More journal entries straight ahead!
