Feb. 18th, 2012

thunder

Feb. 18th, 2012 07:07 am
monk111: (Default)
A good rain overnight. The back yard is a lake. And now the thunder starts kicking off?? This is where we start worrying about being flooded. It looks and feels like we are not halfway through with the rain. fuckityfukfuk!
monk111: (Noir Detective)
Nostalgic weekends are just not working out. They have firmly settled into becoming wasted weekends, and I waste enough time as it is. I had an idea yesterday: to rotate the Old Journal into the regular book-blogging rounds, doing one or two old entries per go-around. I fought off the idea at first, because it is helpful to separate out the weekends from the week, helping me to stay on track for trash days and grocery days. However, seeing another Saturday go utterly to the birds, I am going to take my chances. I think I will work on my old journal entries after I do Sylvia’s.

Why don't nostalgia weekends work for me any longer?

It may be that I have come to appreciate in a deeper, more visceral way how depressing my past and my old entries truly are. It is very rarely that an old entry makes me feel warm and good inside. And let it be noted that my early 1991 entries are especially downers.

I am reminded again that I probably would have done better if I did not keep a diary but sought to exercise my passion for writing in other forms. If fiction is too demanding for my shallow imagination, then something like book-reporting, anything but the mere recording of my daily life. But I guess I was too lazy, and it was going to be a diary or nothing. Which is a tough choice, considering what we have. I guess a dog isn't the only one who returns to his vomit.
monk111: (Default)
Mother had a mood to flatter me in her memories of my childhood. My family is the only appreciative audience I have.

===============

February 18, 2012

Looking at this now, I think I may have fatuously misconstrued Mother’s intentions. I wish I had written an example of this supposed flattery, but I suspect she actually may have been trying to shame me, bringing to my attention how I had gone from a somewhat promising and relatively over-achieving boyhood to this adult slacker living with the parents. I don’t know, though. Maybe she was in a fond and nostalgic mood. It is not impossible, but, yeah, I'd bet that it was more like mockery.

*******

No, this is not a return to nostalgic weekends. I had finished a post on Sylvia yesterday, and now it's my turn. Next: the Jesus book by Wills.
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