Right now I can spot about eight journals in my apartment (all blank) without leaving my bed or even turning my head. It's fairly ridiculous. I'm not sure why I don't ever write in them. Well...actually, it's probably similar to the reason why I'm not a fan of blogs. I don't feel like I should record all the boring aspects of my life that even I'm not interested in reading about. So I suppose I'm waiting for something interesting to say. Which may not happen, because life is never as interesting as you think it is. I guess I could use the journals for my fiction...but that doesn't appeal to me, either. So...I guess I'll just let them sit pretty in my room and every now and then I'll pick them up and leaf through the empty pages.
Everything feels pretty blank these days.
|Is death more interesting than life?|