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"I've got your troubles."
Sep. 15th, 2012 01:27 pmEvery once in a while I let myself be weird and sentimental, just enough to feel silly and embarrassed but not enough to plunge into nostalgic sadness. A couple nights ago, I read entries from seven years ago, trying to figure out how certain memories stacked up to reality. It turned out I had gotten most of the details right; I had just mashed them together into one short continuous streak instead of a few weeks or however long it ended up being. I think this happens a lot. A few details shine in the middle of the drudgery, a couple good times rise over the wreckage, and I forget certain unnecessary parts until I gloss back over then again. Probably for the best.
It's funny, though. I seem to remember writing a lot more clearly in those days than I did. I felt like I explained circumstances a lot better and wrote chronologically with more details. Maybe I thought that because I already knew the context in which I was writing at that time. Looking at these entries, I was sadly mistaken. A lot of events in these entries seemed to happen out of nowhere. I sometimes missed important details that factor greatly in my memories and instead barely mentioned anything at all. Reading them together, there's only a small connection between them that I can find, and I'm pretty sure I only think that because I was there. I wrote these words, but that person is far removed from who I am now.
I look at the current state of this journal, and I'm not sure if it's going to get any better. I can hardly sit down and write those day to day missives anymore, even if I think about them a lot more often than I let on. I suppose that's a good metaphor for how life's been going. I don't really want to analyze something unless I feel strongly about it, and even those things end up lodged in my throat the majority of the time. I find I want to hash out my anxieties less and less, opting instead for short and ambiguous entries about who knows what whenever I get around to it, and whatever I don't mention to Mike or my mom in real time, I keep to myself. I'm not saying this is any healthier, just different, and I probably drive myself just as crazy anyway.
Still, many of these silly worries seem a lot less important to me than they used to. They're always running through my head, but I don't want to take the time to spiral into them or conflate them into problems they aren't in actuality. Not on paper at least. There's other stuff to do, and I'm not sure I've got enough time to do all of it on top of sitting and trying to figure out things about which I can do very little (or maybe nothing at all). I ought to worry more about that, I'm sure.
I don't know what my point is here. I had one when I started, but I woke up with a slight headache and have been interrupted several times by various things. I'm thinking maybe I ought to go clean or something before I completely lose motivation rather than sitting here trying to figure out what I was trying to say. Hopefully it'll come back to me in the meantime.
It's funny, though. I seem to remember writing a lot more clearly in those days than I did. I felt like I explained circumstances a lot better and wrote chronologically with more details. Maybe I thought that because I already knew the context in which I was writing at that time. Looking at these entries, I was sadly mistaken. A lot of events in these entries seemed to happen out of nowhere. I sometimes missed important details that factor greatly in my memories and instead barely mentioned anything at all. Reading them together, there's only a small connection between them that I can find, and I'm pretty sure I only think that because I was there. I wrote these words, but that person is far removed from who I am now.
I look at the current state of this journal, and I'm not sure if it's going to get any better. I can hardly sit down and write those day to day missives anymore, even if I think about them a lot more often than I let on. I suppose that's a good metaphor for how life's been going. I don't really want to analyze something unless I feel strongly about it, and even those things end up lodged in my throat the majority of the time. I find I want to hash out my anxieties less and less, opting instead for short and ambiguous entries about who knows what whenever I get around to it, and whatever I don't mention to Mike or my mom in real time, I keep to myself. I'm not saying this is any healthier, just different, and I probably drive myself just as crazy anyway.
Still, many of these silly worries seem a lot less important to me than they used to. They're always running through my head, but I don't want to take the time to spiral into them or conflate them into problems they aren't in actuality. Not on paper at least. There's other stuff to do, and I'm not sure I've got enough time to do all of it on top of sitting and trying to figure out things about which I can do very little (or maybe nothing at all). I ought to worry more about that, I'm sure.
I don't know what my point is here. I had one when I started, but I woke up with a slight headache and have been interrupted several times by various things. I'm thinking maybe I ought to go clean or something before I completely lose motivation rather than sitting here trying to figure out what I was trying to say. Hopefully it'll come back to me in the meantime.
