Most days I journal before I go to bed. Though the entries are exceptional only in their mediocrity, I’m fine with that. I endeavor to be bad when I’m writing for myself. I like that I can get to a place where I stop trying. The entries can be, sometimes, mean-spirited and arrogant. They can be full of yearning and are often (embarrassingly) pathetic. I read one recently that made me want to vomit, it was so delusional. Made me think:

She just didn’t like you that much, you nitwit.

But I have to put that garbage somewhere. Lately I’ve found myself interested in the act of journaling, of my process and others’. My process is unremarkable. I’d like to start writing things that matter, eventually. Seems like more work, but I want the entries to be more fun for my future self. Ideally, in a few years I could sit and, entry by entry, watch myself develop. Instead I’ve got lists of each day’s events and my failings (which doesn’t make for great reading).

I have complicated feelings about reading the private writings of anyone, even long-dead authors, but a few days ago I read two of Virginia Woolf’s diary entries. They’re hilarious in their frankness and their fearlessness. Though it makes me feel a little sick, I’m going to include a couple lines because the writing made me laugh out loud.

“I’m somehow reminded of an excellent highly polished well seasoned brown boot by the look of him.”

“The book is a disgracefully sloppy sentimental rhapsody, leaving Rupert rather tarnished.”

In some ways I suppose you could read her diary as unkind, but it’s a goddamn diary. Mine can be downright malicious. I am thrilled that they’ll never have a reader.

In some ways you could consider this blog a journal but it’s not. It’s for you, not for me. I know someone might read these posts so I’m careful, more specific with my wording, etc.- even if the writing reads casually. I make Decisions (cap-D) here. In my journal, sometimes I don’t even write the words out, just the first letters.

Also, my cursive is illegible. Someone called it “personal hieroglyphics” once. It’s doctor cursive, if you know what I mean. 

I wish I structured this post to end with a lesson, or with a conclusion at all, but I started with no plan and it seems I’ll finish with only loose ends. That’s okay.

Recommendations:

Music:

God. Get ready to cry. Jason Isbell is one of the great lyricists of our generation. He’s a folk artist with an Americana vibe. He sings this song with his wife.

I really dislike the music video so here’s a live performance:

1. Turned my cellphone screen to greyscale and I hate it even more. It’s been fantastic. My screentime is down to like 45 minutes a day, maximum. Now if only I could match that with my computer. I’m working on it!
2. Just read the bit of the Old Testament where David and Johnathan become besties and oh my God is it gay. The wording is just like wedding vows and it’s WILD. Love that Christians simply ignore it (I’m livid).
3. This person (D’Angelo) is making shortish video essays at a worrying rate, but they’re fabulous: