Changing Directions
Joanna Field A Life of One's Own
Somewhere along the line my journal took a turn; it forked from it's original purpose which was almost identical with the above quote's and began instead, to be a forum for the "why me-poor me" condition.
Life continues, uninterrupted by anything too tragic, thank goodness. The cat has decided to throw up on a regular basis and yesterday managed to, quite artistically, splatter the entire length of my couch. I am not sure what happened, but by the path she left over 3 solid cushions and an afghan-I would say she was traveling in an easterly fashion during the event. I doubt there is anything wrong with the little Miss considering she was attacking the dog and generally doing her usual "scizo" routine for the rest of the evening following her "sick" period.. Keith, as usual, was completely entertained by her antics--I, on the other hand, would have found it much easier to be sympathetic if she had at least appeared a little sick. But not my cat! She just romped around and made a spectacle of herself while I scrubbed the furniture down.
I did one of those "I'm gonna hate myself later" things this morning. I was exhausted when I awoke (what's new?) and found it necessary to sit a bit longer than usual in a coma-like state. Fifteen minutes before we were due to run out the door and greet the rush-hour traffic I stumbled to the bathroom to prepare. In the shower I had a 3 second debate. Should I wash my hair or should I not. If I wash my hair I will need to spend an additional 5 minutes with the blow-dryer. If I don't wash my hair I can spend that additional 5 minutes swilling down more coffee. Guess which choice I made. Let me give you a hint---I even managed to see an old boyfriend today. Oh, and if that is not enough, he was accompanied by his gorgeous wife-----you know---the one he threw me over for??????
Why do I never learn that for the economy of a few seconds I can permanently damage my self-esteem for a decade?
Another rambling thought just popped into my mind. (This must be the day for inspiration?) I was reading yet another book on the subject of women and their diaries/journals--this one by Marlene A. Schiwy, when I came across the following quote:
I am almost paranoid about how I write. I worry constantly about punctuation, grammar, and spelling. And this concern actually takes away a great deal spontaneity from what eventually ends up on paper. Though not an illiterate, I do not have a degree in English--and having been through the fires of several "perfectionist" professors in college and one (insane) employer--I have found myself in a constant state of editing.
So why, you ask, do I have and allow such "unusual" punctuation and sentence structure throughout these documents? Somewhere along the line, I guess I rebelled. While I still try and be as proper as I can with respect to the rules of our language, I have decided to take a certain "license" with my writing. As the quote above indicates----the journal/diary is a "no man's land". Partly because it often echoes thoughts and reflections that no woman would freely share with her mate, but also because it doesn't follow the same rules. A woman's diary is to be a place of spots and stains, ink and pencil smudges, pictures and torn papers. The diary is, in effect, a very difficult thing to reproduce electronically. Dashes and pauses--incomplete thoughts and structure reversal--all of these are things that, while appropriate within a journal entry, appear as mistakes when typed in black and white.
Case in point---this very entry. The "truth that is peculiar only to me" was right under my nose--and sweetly contained in the smile of a father who can no longer care for himself.
I guess life is really much easier when you live it and not fight it.- Thanks Margi for helping me see.
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