If you wanted to say that this is only an exercise in narcissism, that it's a self-indulgent diary, a re-write of personal mundane history, an attempt at self myth-making, well, you'd be right. It is. It's also a blog, a journal, a memoir, an autobiography of sorts, a record of my very existence, one that moves slowly slowly, a glacier of small memories, that will, eventually, only add up to what it is.
Whatever that may be.
My hope is that as it grows--and it's years away, I can see now, from being even half done (and in some ways will never be done till I die)--it will take on a larger narrative, will be imbued with more meaning. It is, I think, that larger narrative that keeps me writing. Then again, I could be wrong about that. . . I do plan to write more about other people, about some subjects I've avoided or glossed over, maybe get into the minutia of my own thinking and self-analysis (won't that be fun to read?), and then I may not.
What I've been doing is, every nine months, I switch to a new decade. This is just a structure that befell me, one I came to after the first year. I've mentioned this before, but I'm working my way the best I can through the decades--the 80's, 60's, 90's so far--and will hit upon the others I've been alive in, every nine months, until I'm up to speed with this new and current one. Once I write about a decade, I can continue to write about it, so that, now, I write about three decades whenever I want. So, when I get to the Tens, I'll see what I can do to improve the quality and depth of these little things.
Why?
I don't know, exactly. To make my myth, I guess.
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