I don't want to forget anymore:

Everything feels terribly important.

I want to write down every event that happens in minute detail. Facial expressions. The length of people's hair, the precise shade of their eyes, every word that's said.

I don't, because I'm well aware of how boring and mundane that would be for people to read, it's just... well. My memory is awful. I got through my childhood by shoving ninety-five percent of the things I experienced into my subconscious. That way there was no hate, little fear, and no chance to regret anything. One of my many childhood coping mechanisms.

But I still do this. I find that I can only remember a very small portion of things that happened just last month. I couldn't iterate how I felt or what I saw at all. I could tell you what I did, in general, but the details have all faded.

And things are good. I giggle randomly several times a day. I skip and dance even while ill. I smile incessantly. I'm a regular ray of sunshine, as much as it seems odd even to me.

And I want to remember the details, insignificant as they may be.

So my diary entries may become even more boring. Less or more insightful, I don't know. But perhaps I'll write more often this way, at least?

I don't know. It's just that lately I've seen so much in such tiny spaces. Maybe I won't even write about things that happen at all. Lord knows I don't do much, and my anecdotes probably wouldn't interest many. I don't write that well, after all.

I've just been going through some of my older entries lately, and realising how very much I forgot. Noticing the veiled references I made to people and specific events of my life (despite my having a public diary, I'm still a very private person, and most of my entries dance around what I'd really like to write about).

And it's hard to remember, sometimes. What was going on. What prompted me to write the entries.

I want things to be easier for me, I suppose. I want to remember more of what I feel and say and do.

I started this diary to vent things, because I knew I was driving myself insane by keeping everything inside. Free therapy, in a sense. And it's helped by miles in that respect. Now, I think, I want to try to use it for remembering as well.

We'll see.

revoless.
10:32 p.m.
December 28, 2003.
Listening to: Elliott Smith.

comments? 4.

You were carved from bone but your heart is just sand or Rambling, tangential, altogether not-very-good entry

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