I meant to keep a lifelong journal. It was going to be lists, such as a list of every book I read or every movie I've seen.
It was going to have a log of every trip I took with little notations about the weather that day. It was going to mention every dinner and what was eaten.
It might be an interesting piece by now but it didn't happen.
I thought at one time for some reason that it would be helpful to have kept track of all that.
The stuff of a screwball.
Now I find myself more disinterested than ever at what has preceded. Maybe this is part of reaching a certain age, when friends and relatives have passed, and the knowledge that most of what will happen yet hasn't anywhere near as long to be remembered as things that have happened and can still be recalled or have long since disappeared. Anyway, I like the Vaseline and gauze on the lens I use to look backwards in time.
The bookshelves here are full. I'm not likely to read the books again, but sometimes I glance at them. Mostly I glance at the binders and the titles. The next house, following this one of nearly 40 years occupancy is in escrow. I'll give myself 3 years to glean those things which are valuable or stimulate a memory, then that's it.
There is a fabulous library just 5 blocks from the intended retirement house. There are bookstores and cafes within walking distance. Nature abounds at the locale and I may end up finally feeling settled.
The demographics say I'm leaving an area that is primarily Democrat and headed to one that is far more balanced. I don't actually care because I keep my opinions to myself for the most part.
There is too much wrangling everywhere to feel at peace.
I am choosing to put that behind me I hope.
I don't want to argue.
Because the coffee hasn't kicked in yet.