...the Journal

The Guest
Refrigerator Door

The next set of magnets are from the fridge of my brother-in-law and his wife.

These are tickets to the Kentucky Derby, which they attended a couple of years ago.

* NEW *

Someone suggested I add a discussion board, so I have.

If you have anything to discuss, go to this link. Feel free to start a new discussion on anything.

I'm gone--but you guys chat amongst yourselves, please!


I'm a Stranger Here Myself

Bill Bryson

I enjoyed his Australia book so much, I decided to try the one about this country.


Whose Line is it Anyway?

That's it for today!


25 May 2001

I read lots of on-line journals and I read discussions from journal lists about how other journalists compose entries. One of the subjects that comes up time and time again is whether people in your real life know about your journal.

There are journalists who have created whole different personas--they change their names, change the names of the people in their lives, change their locations, and never ever hint to anybody that they are writing an on-line journal. In fact, if they are "discovered," they may set up a whole new journal just to keep from having the cross-over between their real life and their journal life. This gives them carte blanche to discuss anything, good or bad, that happens in their lives. It must be a great catharsis. Kind of psychotherapy without having to pay the bill.

My life has always been an open book. And Iíve always enjoyed sharing my thoughts and feelings with people, so when I decided to start an on-line journal, I told everyone about it and to this day still invite people to read it. Most of the family and most of my friends read it. In fact, I'm sometimes surprised to find a friend I didn't know about who reads it.

But as I get deeper into this journaling business, I wonder if this was the best decision. There are wonderful, insightful, funny, bitchy, whiny entries that Iíve left unwritten because of fear of hurting someone, exposing my inner self, or just general embarrassment.

I sometimes manage to find a back door to say things that Iím feeling without actually revealing what the entry is really about, but it takes a lot of work. I always cringe when someone asks "did you mean me?" Sometimes I do, sometimes I donít. Sometimes when I begin to cross the line in print, someone in my real life will take me to task. "You donít really feel that way," Iíll be told. Well...yes I do. Thatís why I wrote it!

The most open I ever was in a journal entry ("Speaking Ill of the Dead") caused pain for people I love, though in the end I still think it was a good entry to write. However, following the problems with that entry, I vowed I would no longer be that open and risk hurting people.

The problem is that there are days when I have so much tumbling around in my head, so many entries that I want to write, and then I discard all of them because of the effect Iím afraid theyíd have. It leaves me struggling some days for topics that are "safe" and...well...boring. I often feel this journal has lost its "edge" and I wish that I felt freer to express what Iím really thinking some days.

So Iím writing this entry at 2:15 a.m. and choosing the topic of sleep because itís a safe topic.

I donít feel Iím suffering jet lag. We arrived home at 5 p.m. the night we arrived, I napped on the drive home and we got here at 8. I stayed up reading e-mail until 10 p.m., which was a reasonable hour to go to sleep, so I did, slept through the night and felt I had gotten back on California time right away. I felt fine the next couple of days and was smug about my having beaten jet lag yet again.

However, yesterday I crashed. I spent the entire day finishing loading the last of the 500 pictures from the trip up to Club Photo and then started doing some work. I remember work. I had avoided telling the psychiatrist that I was back, but unfortunately he remembered and the brown envelope showed up in my box in the morning.

His voice has become a real soporific to me. By the time heís finished dictating the address of the person to whom heís addressing a letter, Iím nodding off. I decided that Iíd take a nap and attack the work when I woke up. It was late afternoon and Iíd put spare ribs in the oven for dinner. When I woke up, I looked at my watch and saw that it was 7 oíclock. "Oh my god! Iíve overslept!" I thought. But then I realized that it was too light and too hot to be 7 a.m., and that it must be 7 p.m. I leaped out of the recliner and checked to make sure the spare ribs hadnít burned up while I napped. I got artichokes cooking and set the timer.

Walt had come home while I was asleep and was in the living room reading the paper. I told him I wasnít going to go back to sleep, but that I had slept too long and was still groggy, so I was going to sit back down for a minute and "wake up." Famous last words.

I "woke up" when the timer woke me up. I had gone back to sleep again for another half hour.

We ate dinner and I should have started working, but "Whose Line is it Anyway?" was on and I sat down to watch that. Next thing I knew, it was midnight and I was waking up again.

I managed to go back to sleep for another hour, but now itís 2:30 and Iím starting to feel like Iíve had a full night of sleep. Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day.

Maybe Iíll just start typing the psychiatristís work. That should put me back to sleep immediately.

I suppose itís good that I had such a weird sleep experience. Itís given me something to write about. But trust me, you really would have enjoyed the "other entry" much more. Maybe I need to set up a second, secret journal for all the entries I want to write but canít. But then, of course, nobody would find it to read and what would be the point of that?

One Year Ago:
Guns & Condoms

Some pictures from this journal
can be found at
Club Photo

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Created 5/22/01 by Bev Sykes