urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:m_lena7m_lena7m_lena7m_lena72007-05-09T04:18:01Zurn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:m_lena7:2233Perspective2007-03-30T03:51:34Z2007-05-09T04:18:01ZSorry, it's still in the works but will remain unfinished for quite some time.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:m_lena7:962What do I want out of this?2007-03-23T06:25:04Z2007-03-27T04:29:46ZDear Reader,<br /><br />This entry will be a complicated answer to a simple question. The following is not for the faint, so consider yourself warned. <br /><br />I'll begin by admitting that I was never any good at keeping a journal, diary, or any other written record in order to chronicle my life. The reason for this is because I was always able to remember so much more than I could record on paper. How do you go about describing the distinct array of scents that invade your senses as you stroll down Radomska on a warm summer evening? I agonized over choosing just the right words to convey how for that brief moment one could feel content. When my masterpiece was competed I would read it over just to realize what a feeble attempt it really was, and usually deemed my attempts as complete failures unworthy of any future consideration. The sound of crumpled paper landing in the trash can was one I became very accustomed to. And so how does one not feel discouraged? <br /><br />The very sensible reason number two I must attribute to nothing more than a personality flaw. Yes, one of many I suppose I should say. I will not persue this topic any further, however, because it would be quite tangential and if you are reading this you already know what what they are. Most often I do not dwell on the good, and for very good reason. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. On the other hand, events and such that produce a dissonence are quite bothersome. And it would be these accounts that would inevitably inhabit the pages of my journal. So why keep a written record of my painful moments, and an inadequate record at that, when even the words 'it felt as if he had plunged a sword in the middle of my chest and left me there to bleed' don't begin to express the hurt? Additionally, why revisit these wounds when it takes to much to heal? I'm actually very good at that, dwelling that is. I know what all you optimists are going to tell me and you can go to hell. It was never in my nature to be optimistic and you know what they say about teaching an old dog new tricks.<br /><br />Age. Apparently, memory is the first thing to go, right? Or is it eye sight? Maybe insight? Age has clouded my judgement. I think it would be more accurate to say that experience, which comes with age, has clouded my judgement. But that's an entirely different entry. For now, let me admit that whether intentional or not, I have failed to commit to memory several important events, gestures that are very important to me. Only one sentence comes to mind, and you can say it with me, "I wish I would have wrote it down." Oh, bite me, really. Live and learn.<br /><br />I supposed now would be a good time to address the question I posed to myself. What DO I want out of this? For now, three things: clarity, insight, and imperfection. I'll explain each one individually. Maybe recording the events that acutally make their way past the metal plates will help me bring a speck of clarity to the swamp I inhabit. Insight is that unchewable piece of meat you end up spitting out when it's obvious that you'll be outfitted with dentures by the time you'll be ready to swallow. Quiet moments for introspection are rare in my world these days, so keeping a written record may help me realize certain things, just sooner. Why would anyone want to strive for imperfection? Well, I'm not striving for imperfection. A very wise professor indeed lectured me, "you're only perfect once in your life, when you're dead." I wish I would have told him that I'm already perfect at something else, and that's imperfection. However, here I will learn to accept imperfection. The chronic overachiever in me is about to shit bricks. Strive for your best but accept that perfection is unattainable. Unless maybe you're laying down on an plastic surgeon's table in Beverly Hills, and then maybe we can talk.<br /><br />That is all for now. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the answer to the posed question will change with time. Try to keep up, will you?