I have not been keeping a journal. Yes, I keep this fairweather blog, and yes, I charm around twitterspace, but I think the actual, thought-out record of my youth has come and gone without a glance or byword.
I re-read my New Year's goals today. I am behind. But that's nothing new. I needed the reminder.
I have been drawing a lot in church. It seems like the only time in my life where I am just sitting. Hopefully listening. Remarkably, I think it has done good things for my memory retention. NPR confirms this. Maybe I will post my drawing studies. I am very shy about my art. I can always see my weaknesses. I am very slow to share the things I like, even with myself.
Sometimes I think I would like to write a sexual advice column. Something like a modern day Dear Abby where I could speculate about odd encounters with girl friends and regular readers. Maybe I'm an odd fit in that role, but then again, maybe I'm a perfect fit. I wish we talked about sex more. With whoever. Our neighbors and grandmas and strangers on the subway train. It's interesting how hush-hush it is until you turn some awakening, rite-of-passage corner, and then it's still hush-hush but for some reason the adults are giving you winking nods and sly smiles. You are one of us they whisper. Nobody really knows a thing about anybody, do they?
