Grumpy Blogs about life, dreams and Work

it is a thing I feel compelled to do.  It is more than a compulsion though.  I enjoy it.  It often takes the mess of a morning head and straightens it.  Journaling makes my life more palatable in the writing and in the reading, at least to me. Why I want to make my life public defies good sense. It is an inexplicable vanity. Why am I vain? Why am I less private than normal people? Why do I want to expose my life like this? Why does a dog eat its own vomit? Why does a cat purr while it’s clawing your leg? I don’t know, but I enjoy it. It is my confession of life. I told Bee I was going to do this. “Don’t push it Bee.”
“Don’t push me.”
“So, do you have a business question?” I asked tersely.
“No.”
“Okay, then. Anything else?”
“No.”
We hung up.

Of course, the rest of the day was shot after that.  Existential suicide walked through the room a couple of times. Just kill yourself on the sofa in front of the TV. That will leave a nice pretty picture. I ignored it by watching a movie and falling into a depressive sleep. The sleep was just black with no memory of dreams. The old dilemma came back. Prior to Bee, I ruined a numerous  relationships because of my obsession with writing and pursuit of the arts and self denial of my true motives.  I want to be famous and rich. I also want to leave some enduring work behind that makes life less miserable, if only in a few moments of neurotic entertainment. Also, everyone likes to be written about until it’s not pretty or funny. I decided with Bee I wouldn’t write about her.  I also decided to join the real world of working, money and living.  I’ve enjoyed it, but the desire for writing has plagued me like an addiction. So, I’m back. I’m enjoying it. I hope this doesn’t ruin Bee and I.

When she came home, we ignored the topic completely and watched Tsoti.