A Change of Mind
I actually had the time, yesterday, to sit down and write an entry here, and I actually wrote one, or at least a passable imitation thereof. But I couldn't bring myself to post it. I had indulged some of my worst faults: disjointedness, coyness, concealment of facts from the reader, the straining of metaphor, and pomposity. A lot happened yesterday, and a lot of it had meaning, but trying to wrestle that meaning into a journal entry was too difficult for the time I had.
I want to write, but I am naturally discreet, and the two impulses are often at odds. I know lots of interesting people, with interesting challenges in their lives, but I don't have the heart to make this journal about them. And I make a half-hearted narcissist, at best; I find it hard to pretend that my actions, thoughts, and feelings are of much interest to anyone else. I like to read about action, and write about it: but I have to be honest. No shoot-outs, romantic junkets, or pathetic peripeties here. Instead, I dig holes, I go to the library and the gas station, I look for socks that match.
Yesterday I saw five people, each special in my life, and the sequence, I thought, had to be recorded. They moved in succession across the stage without any of them meeting. But they all met me. That's what I wanted to wriite about, and now I have.
