Ten Years After
Wednesday. Ten years ago on this day in October I started this journal because I thought it a good idea at the time, something interesting to do for a month or two for an old guy in his mid-fifties. Couldn't be all that difficult. For a month or two? Round out 1998?
I have no idea why it's gone this long. I've been writing about my aching this, my dizzy that, occasionally mentioning Mr. Wuss and now Ms. Emmy, my cats, but mostly it's been bitching and moaning interspersed with gems of political insight. And a lot of pictures. For me the need to feed it photographs alone has made it worthwhile.
I've occasionally thought of going back and rewriting some of the early stuff as it seems overly naïve (actually, it doesn't seem naïve, it is naïve) and then I've thought, well, this is a journal, better the (embarrassing) truth: what comes out comes out.
So we'll see where it may go. I haven't had any thoughts of stopping in the recent past, no particular thought to keep at it in the future. Is the journal another rut? In this business of re-inventing my life, do I need to stop? Could be. No need to worry about it methinks. Here in Oakland.