Journals are like girlfriends. Secret agent girlfriends that are so technologically advanced that they transcend gender roles and popular expectations. They keep secrets and you can tell them everything without collateral damage. Unfortunately you also don’t receive any input or insight from the journal like you would if you told your girlfriend everything. Nor do you suffer consequence or reprimand for revelation or confession.
I wonder what would happen if all the men in the world treated their women like a diary. Keep them safe and locked up, but also relinquish to them every detail and thought of every moment of every day. Or maybe men could treat them like a blog? No, editing is permissible and the internet is a show more than a real, private paper journal.
No one wants to know that much about anyone, especially the one they love, do they? I think people have to leave some bits to the imagination and wading through all that minutia would kill all suspense and just manifest paranoia. (Just because I’m mentioning dinner rolls and sausage does not mean I want to have sex.) Oh, that’s just me?
I have 3 categories/journals on this little blog and that’s about all I can handle. Any more and it would be like juggling girlfriends, which is a young man’s game. Not only am I not a young man, I got all the girlfriend I need.
If you have a date on Friday with a girl but are already looking forward to Saturday’s date with girl #2, then something is amiss. When you’re worried about running into girl #3 while you’re with girl #2, then something will give. Trying not to get schedules confused with names of different women, their jobs, personal details, what night with which woman at which bar, if it was Friday or Sunday, who is this on the phone right now? Appearances always collide and mistakes eventually occur and the face of an ass is always the one looking at you in the mirror.
I could also never understand polygamy, good god, how much maintenance would that be? Not girlfriends, but having 5 or more wives to keep smiling? Is that actually possible, is everyone happy there or is someone getting the short end somewhere? Why do I feel like if it were me, I’d be the one suffering, but in those cults I think the dude is pretty content. My head would spin like the exorcist girl and I would be hitting the road faster than Cale Yarborough.
Life is so much nicer and I sleep so much easier now that I’m not such a young man. I just write in a journal and reminisce about a life I wish I had.