This post is mostly just because I keep hearing disparate lines from the 1900s’ album that I bought and I fall a little bit in love with the lyrics and want to post shit without being That Girl Who Posts Lyrics, because, how lame. I have settled on the title bar as a compromise between decorum and outrageous lyric-mad abandon.
I will observe, however, Pamela-style, that in the ten minutes since I last posted, I have been giving serious thought to the problem of whether to get a summer journal. I think, much more than previously, I’m openly reluctant to re-read what I’ve written unless I am really extremely drunk and want to wallow in maudlin remembrance. I am not sure what to make of this development in myself. It could be that I am becoming less interested in the very process of becoming–and correspondingly less narcissistic; or perhaps merely less aware of myself. Or maybe my life has just become more full of depressing missteps from which I cannot recover, and looking over those makes me terribly unhappy such that I am just not able to give myself to remembering what cannot ever be fixed. On the other hand, I lost two of my books: one from spring semester of my senior year, and the one Melissa gave me as a replacement to the one I left accidentally at my parents’ house–and despite the fact that neither of those times were remarkable for their happiness, I tremendously resent the loss and feel like the foundations of my personhood have, however slightly, been chipped.
This question probably will be resolved in the most prosaic of ways, and will wholly depend on the relative attractiveness of the journals at the Borders, since it’s the only bookstore near me. And Borders really blows, so, problem solved?
I post lyrics as titles all the time, because I am that girl, but I prefer that people have to search for what lyrics I’m posting. That, and they rarely have anything to do with my mood. It’s mostly just what I’m listening to on my ipod at the time. Pretty soon, it will be “Two trailor park girls go round me outside,” and everyone will wonder about the hidden meaning, but only I (and now your entire readership) will know that it’s just chance.
Do you even write in your journals anymore? If you do, then you should totes get a new one, if not, just move on. It probably means you’ve moved beyond botteling up your emotions and are now actually telling people how you feel, which is a big step.
eh, even if you never read it again, at least you’ll have somewhere to write. I occasionally reread my journals when I’m feeling nostalgic, and I don’t write in them incredibly often, only when I’m feeling inspired.