back from the beach this afternoon. its a rough adjustment. check me on this: its april, and today our thermometer in the car registered 100 degrees. that’s just not right.
especially when one is nursing a bit of a sunburn. this is as bad a case as I’ve had in a while, one patch might be approaching sun poisoning. and it all happened so fast. I just laid out on the beach and read for a little bit, and fell asleep. and I even put sunblock on. at one point I remember waking up, and thinking… you know, I should get up and out of this sun, I think I’ve had enough. but I couldn’t, just physically I was unable to pick myself up. either I was really tired or maybe hung over from the night before, when I had broken my long fast from alcohol for lent, or the sun was unexpectedly powerful for this time of year, or both.
but whatever. its not that bad. I feel like I’m all stoic about it, because I’m not really complaining, but its only in comparison to all these pussy girls I live, … but maybe enough said about that anyway.
that does remind me that there’s stuff I’ve considered entering into these journals, or my written or recorded ones, but I hold back. and I thought about that. sometimes its like who cares about this stuff anyway, what’s the point? or maybe it would be awkward or inconvenient if someone I knew ever read any of this, and then we’d have to deal with that. but do you think, really how likely is that?
and in the unlikely event that these survive for any length of time, some of the aspects of pepys’ journal that are most interesting, that make them so lasting, is their uniquely personal character. he writes about his infidelities, and his sex life and going out drinking and singing with his buddies. its so timeless. and that’s something that’s inspired me to do this in the first place, and by holding back, maybe I’m depriving my own writing of a certain verity, or character. if some person unknown to me comes along this writing some time after I’m gone, where would be the inconvenience? what harm could there be in trying to capture this human experience as completely, as accurately, as truthfully as possible?
but these two factors, that of the certain present and the uncertain future seem to be at odds, and I don’t know how to reconcile them. how to write without reservation and yet not risk whatever personal consequences there might be attendant.
I’ve toyed with the idea of writing and encrypting some content, with the key somehow stashed on a cd in my safe deposit box to be opened by my heirs, but it sounds too bizarre, doesn’t it? and that’s not what I’m looking for anyway. I’ve contemplated maybe writing ficitionalized accounts, but that wouldn’t fool anybody who actually did know me. but really what difference does it make, if I never write it, no one will ever read it, and if I do write it no one will probably ever read it either. “so write it down, it might be read / nothing’s better left unsaid. / only sometimes, but still no doubt / its hard to say, it all works out.”