I’m bad about keeping a journal. And by ‘bad’, I mean, not doing it very often. At least, not as often as someone like me should. On any given day, I have about five concurrent notebooks. And they all start life with the best intentions. These notebooks, like us all, begin as individuals and then become part of a homogenised mass. From one page to the next I find:
· To do lists, of course, coming either in ‘actionable steps’ like Getting Things Done told me to do, or lazy-old-me vagueness like EXERCISE or SLEEP IN.
· Song lyrics, taken so out of context they’re rendered meaningless.
· Random figures, normally with the word ‘owed’ next to them.
· Preparations for difficult conversations, which feature the letter I a worrying amount of times.
· Names of things that sound ambiguously indie, like Lilac Watermelon. Could be a band; could be a movie. Who knows?
· Illegible note taking from gigs – mostly stream-of-consciousness, mostly biro.
· A tattoo idea that I cringe for thinking was profound when I drew it.
AND
· A list of gifts that would make that would make someone really, really happy but now they’ll never get.
Right now, especially, I should be journaling. And, I was. But then that thing happened like with soap operas when you go on holiday – too much occurred whilst I was away and I couldn’t catch up.
Hi you. It's been too long.
On the stereo: Weyes Blood
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