Journaling

Journalling? Certainly not two ells. Noel is best. One 'ell is enough for anybody. But I've got a couple ells in my journalling.
I say, Yeah I journal. And everybody says, wow that's really great. But they haven't read the crap. I do all the time. It's sorta like watching a car crash over and over and over and..... really the same crap pretty much every day for about a year and a half. There's the part that's fun, which I downplay, and then the endless psycho-philosophical babble which can be summed up in a single word. Maybe. (That's the word) Maybe I'll do something different and break out of this hideous rut (rut is in the middle of truth), in which ALL I do is journal. You name it, whatever else it is, I probably don't do it. I, yes, play a little music, and write a little music, and earn some of the money I get paid. But who I am. That person came out last week at fiddle camp. A pleasant, decent sort of guy. Very tired, but decent. Too tired and too decent to journal much.

Then I got home, and out came the journal for the several hundredth recording of the agony and the sort of ecstasy, neither of which is so dramatic really. It's just what happens in the hours. And it is so boring I should stop. But there is a fascination. And fear. So I watch no TV. I wait for the next episode of my lack of a life, which I will faithfully record in my ninth book of journalling this year. Which I will read. And which will, yes, put me to sleep. Like the good dog I am.