November 22nd, 2006



I already keep a journal, you know. For almost 15 years, I've written down what I did that day, and (sometimes) how I felt about Life, the Universe, and Everything. Mostly, though, it's a "did the laundry and went to the cafe and made a bunch of phone calls" kind of journal. For me, sentences like "Had dinner with Skeezix. He had lobsters. I had plaice." evokes a complicated and naunced memory of our conversation and how I felt about it and what happened next (if anything important), even years later. When I was in Japan a few years ago, alone in the suburban nursing home where my Japanese mother was living, unable to speak to anybody but her and the one orderly who knew more than three words of English, I wrote quite extensively, pages and pages of observations on Japan and the Japanese and how I felt about everything. I also wrote very long letters. These days, I'm lucky if I squeeze out a page before my hand gives out. But I persevere.

It will be interesting to figure out how to use LJ. It won't be for the things I put in my paper journal. And it won't be for lovely little personal essays--I am not a personal essayist, at heart.

Never say never, my back brain is telling me. Especially in public. For you will come to grief.

Time will tell.