How does life get in the way of chronicling about life?
Oh it is so very easy to do. Its not only that one gets too busy with all the activities during the day and by night fall, one is too tired to sit in front of a computer to actually put pressure on the brain and then on the keys to first form the words and then type them, but, by the end of the day, there really isn’t much left to say. After spending all day in thought with words, words, words, and more words, quite often the same ones over and over and over, that come evening, there are none left to say. They have been spent. The ideas have been hashed and rehashed until they become stale and are therefore not worth mentioning. One is simply over them and cannot be bothered. Besides, they lose that purity that comes with freshness. Like the first drop of rain which is always distinct and has its own unique flavour. But once it starts raining in earnest, you cannot tell one drop from the next. So it is with writing I think. An idea presented in its original form, though raw, has a certain appeal to it. Its own unique flavour, flow. Its own unique thrill. Perhaps because it comes straight from the heart and is set down before the mind has had a chance to play the critic. Yes? Maybe?
Or maybe all this is just bah-hum-bug. An excuse for my laziness. But just in case it is not, I am going to carry a journal with me everyday. Just to chronicle those odd moments, those stray thoughts that flit through our minds when we least expect them to or are least prepared for or quite simply unmindful of. And then I can examine them later, at my own leisure.
Do I really have the time or space to add one more thing to my already groaning schedule? No. But I sure as heck am going to try. Because you just never know until you try.