Listen to me, but don't look at me!
So, I have this beautiful little journal. I carry it with me in my Big Black Bag of Tricks. All the essentials of life exist in that bag. Maybe that's why I'm developing a hernia :)

Discman, book of discs, Filofax, wallet, 'woman things', Maglite, brellie, money, Dentyne Ice gum, lip balm and my journal. (I'm thinking that list makes me High Maintenance).

Anyhoo, I keep snippets of thoughts in there, questions that bug me, or things that happen through the course of a day. All sitting there, waiting to be expanded upon, the seeds that will grow to be a proper journal entry. And there they sit.

They're good ideas, too, don't get me wrong. I just wish I could polish them, embellish a little here and there, nothing too outlandish. When I was wee, my Mom said I absolutely did not have the ability to tell a tale that went from Point A to Point B. I used to be a great storyteller.

I can attest to that, since I remember slumber parties in public school that would involve me, in the dark, repeating one of Bill Cosby's routines to the squeals of my girlfriends. His timing is wonderful. The thing about me performing his bits in the dark is very revealing to me now. I like the attention; I like to be recognized for my ability, but I like it to not involve a spotlight of any kind. Maybe that's why I always wanted to be part of the makeup crew on the school plays in highschool instead of on stage.

Where was I? Oh yeah, tangents. Hee. I guess I've just proven my point. I like to tell a story. It's just that, in a journal, you're in the spotlight. And it's self-inflicted. I'm going to have to reconcile myself with that.

Hopefully, as a result, I will end up a better writer.

Posted at 1:06 p.m.