Blogging is a term that hasn't been around that long, but the concept has become very popular. It seems as if everyone has a blog these days, including yours truly. After reading many blogs, I've come to the conclusion that blogs have taken the place of those old-fashioned diaries we used to have as kids. It is also very similar to "journaling", with everyone making their thoughts available for the world to read. Thoughts, dreams, goals, fears, inhibitions, loves, hates...you name it, are no longer held in a small book clutched tightly to our chests. We open ourselves up for ridicule by the entire world!
I can't recall ever being one of those kids who wrote in a diary, but I can remember journaling on occasion and still have the bizarre ramblings to prove it. But, if I were going to write in a diary, my entry for today would look something like this:
January 4, 2011
Dear Diary,
It is 4:30 in the morning. I was awakened by a peculiar dream. I am sure all dreams are peculiar in some form or another. Alot of people can't recall their dreams and don't know if they dream in black and white or in living color. I dream in living color. How do I know? Because my dream was filled with images waiting to be taken (as they usually are), to be captured on film. A girl that I know was wearing an orange ballet tutu, sitting on a suitcase in front of a brown trailer, her slippered feet immersed in mud. She is looking at me and the camera as if it is our fault or that we should be able to do something to help her. The next image was her brother in the orange ballet tutu, standing beside her. I walked down a street lined with pink and purple trailers. A young girl was sitting by a fence in front of one of the trailers asking me if I had seen her mother. She was holding an old brownie camera. Just as I passed, an old woman drove up in a blue Chevrolet from the 60s. Her face was lined with age and the cigarette smoke curled from the car window.
Prior to that, I dreamed of a row of young men, probably a football team, sitting at a long picnic-type table. I was coaching them on their diet prior to games and how to avoid stomach aches. There were bowls of pasta on the table. The edge of the table was splintered and I had to warn them not to get too close lest they snag their uniforms.
Other images involved old sofas, chairs and coats for photo shoots. Flowers grew wildly among dead weeds and signs of poverty were all around. A place that I've never seen before was suddenly quite familiar to me. Clothing items were hanging on hangers across the bathroom doors of stalls located in the dollar store. Everyone knows the dollar stores have no public restrooms, but I was hanging clothing displays there nonetheless. And washing my hands. I suppose even in our dreams we cannot escape our OCD tendencies.
People that I've known in the past swirled through my head, as did people from the present. Places that I will go in the future did also. I can remember wondering why people who used to blog on a regular basis have not blogged in months and I recall worrying about what had happened to them.
Diary, am I insane to have all these things rolling around in my head? Or is it the suppression of my creativity -- the things that I keep bottled up because I know at this point in my life, I have no way to make some of these things happen? Could it be something I ate before I went to bed? I had some white cheddar popcorn, Maybe I shouldn't eat it before bedtime in the future?
Well, I'm going to try to get back to sleep. Maybe now that I've written all of this down my brain will relax and let the peace envelop me. Until another day diary.
Well, I'm going to try to get back to sleep. Maybe now that I've written all of this down my brain will relax and let the peace envelop me. Until another day diary.
Love,
Me
Aren't you glad I really don't keep a personal diary? Aren't you glad I don't record my dreams more often? I feel if I did, someone would be bringing one of those pretty white coats by for me to wear!
I'm just sayin',
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