Some people don’t like journalling because they don’t like trying to find a narrative to their lives. I never considered it that way until I read something yesterday from a guy who likes to keep a log of what he does throughout his days. He’d rather log that he had a taco at 12 PM on Friday than write an entry that may or may not include the fact that he had a taco. Journalling means different things to different people. I’ve tried keeping logs of what I do, but it bored me. The only log I really try to keep are the books I read, which includes the day I started them and the day I finished them. I’ve tried to keep logs on the television shows I watched, the food I ate, and the music I listened to. I like writing. I like thinking deeply about my day and trying to figure out that hook to start me off into some sort of narrative with no idea where it’ll take me.
Journalling is freeing. I learn more about myself during this act than at any other moment in my day. Because I know this, because I go through my day with the awareness that anything is fodder for the content of my journals, I can live my life freely. I don’t try to create a narrative because that just feels disingenuous. I live it as personally and as honestly as I could because then I can delve deeper into what I’m made of, and only by tearing myself apart and putting myself back together can I see what I’m made of. That’s why I really love journalling. The added audience aspect of it included in the openness of a blog makes me extra vigilant to be honest.
Today I ran some errands, cleaned up my house, and did my Weekly Review. I watched a lot of the Good Wife on Amazon Prime, and I took a few naps because my bed, pillows, and sheets are so comfy that it’s hard to stay awake while lying down on them. Pretty boring and standard day in the life of Mario. Going off of yesterday’s entry, I’m feeling desperate for something. It feels like I’m waiting for something. Someone to come into my life. Something to change it. Time to pass before my life actually starts. I don’t know.
I had a feeling earlier today. I’ve told some lies that I’m ashamed of telling. The lies themselves don’t matter. They’re small stuff, like telling someone I watched something — a TV show or something — when I haven’t. I used to tell lies all the time and didn’t care. Hell, I’m keeping some pretty big lies I told as a kid that I’m keeping from people even now, and I don’t feel that bad about them. It’s the lies from the past 5 years or so. One of the defining transformations I wanted to do was to stop lying, even small ones like those. And every time I fail, I feel it immediately, and I feel guilty. Sometimes I’m able to “save” it by backtracking or something and then telling the truth, but other times I don’t. I remember lying about watching a USC football game a few weeks ago at work, and that just ruined my whole day. I don’t know why I lied about except maybe just wanting to fit in. But all that came back today while watching highlights of the Seahawks/Packers game. I imagined talking to some co-workers about it tomorrow and talking to them like I watched the game when I just watched highlights. It’s stupid. I can just say I watched the highlights. But it’s bothering me for some reason. Worth writing about, at least.
I guess that’s what journalling is about, right?