“So the point of my keeping a notebook has never been, nor is it now, to have an accurate factual record of what I have been doing or thinking. That would be a different impulse entirely, an instinct for reality which I sometimes envy but do not possess. At no point have I ever been able successfully to keep a diary; my approach to daily life ranges from the grossly negligent to the merely absent, and on those few occasions when I have tried dutifully to record a day’s events, boredom has so overcome me that the results are mysterious at best. What is this business about “shopping, typing piece, dinner with E, depressed”? Shopping for what?
Typing what piece? Who is E? Was this “E” depressed, or was I depressed? Who cares?”
From On Keeping A Notebook.
That’s largely how I feel about keeping this personal blog. It’s more for writing than a reflective or remembering devise.
What word starts and ends with E but only has one letter in it? Envelope.
Slept in this morning. (Will I remember anything else about that statement, in say a year or two?)