~Out You Come, Thoughts
2004-01-18 - 1:10 p.m.

I don't know why some things I feel the urge to journal about and other things I don't - or they somehow seem too big. I suppose it's partly from that tenacious thought that there are real people reading this who need to understand things properly, but also from a kind of vow to myself when I started writing this thing. I thought that it's no good me having this if I'm not going to write in it thoroughlly and properly. I don't want to have one of those teenage diaries where girls write "Oh, Jane and I went to Sam's and we did the same old thing. I so tired of that shit, you know? Anyway, then I chatted to Jules about how I've been feeling and we maybe sorted some stuff out, although she said some things that I can't forget. OK, catch you laters." There's really no point whatsoever to my writing like that. It's not theraputic and it doesn't explain anything. It's so short I may as well not write anything at all. I need to use this as a place to write out the things that tumble around my head and don't get an outlet, or enough of one. I need to explain it properly and coherently, which is why I generally don't write exactly as I think, I'll write exactly what I want to say but couch it in better terms than originally oozed out of my mind. I need to write about it all as if there is someone, some deeply understanding, totally unjudging person reading all of this. Unfortunately, that isn't my real readers. As far as I know, none of them are mean, awful people, but there's always that sense in which a real person will bring their own ideas and opinions to what they read and will take away their own impressions, even if they're fairly given. For instance, if I have three entries in a row complaining, it sounds like life is hard, when often complaining is the only time I feel motivated to write. When things go well, there's nothing caught in my head that needs to be freed.

I probably couldn't write in here at all if I didn't trust the people who read this, but there's still a sense in which knowing that real people read my diary, and who most of those people are (even if I only know them online) means that I feel kind of clipped in what I can and would say. Which is hard because there's no point me having this diary if I can't be honest. I can edit what I say when talking to anyone in real life - Mum, Emma etc. - so I may as well talk to them as write in here if that's going to happen.

Funnily enough, I don't think that is why I haven't been writing in here as much in recent months, or even why I'll write about silly things like shopping trips but not big things, like relatives from England visiting. I think they're such big things that need explaining - who everybody is (although you could all just look up my who's who page) and stuff - and, really, I talk about them so much with Mum and other people that I don't need to discuss them here. But it's funny that there are these whole chunks of my life that I don't write about. It really is hard for anybody to really understand anyone else, isn't it? Or maybe it's just me, there's always something I'm holding back. Even when I want to be fully understood by people, there's always some secret part of me I'll never reveal, there's nobody I'll be truly relaxed for and open with.

Well, there I go. I suppose I've written an entry all about nothing, which is good for me - it's the thoughts in my head that need to get out, not the events in my life that need to be recorded - but still weird, how I'll write whole entries about nothing and no entries about big things that take up my time and therefore my thoughts for a large amount of the time.

I don't want to go back to work. One week left and I just don't know what to do with a bunch of grade 2/3 kids! Ah well, I just have to be positive and not shirk.