I've decided to keep a better blog. A more informative blog. A more checkable blog. Isn't this what it's supposed to be, the journal of the 21st century...dot com? Then again, I might not be so good at that. I might take a moment and explain my history of journaling, why I'm lying when I say I'll keep a better blog and why I like to lie in general.
It was my first year in college. Journals, up until that point, had been entry after entry along the lines of "I like Peter and he looked at me today!" entries and "Math is stupid. I hate Mr. Garibay!" : things that my progeny could look back on and laugh, of course, but nothing that would edify them. At the ripe old age of 17, I decided that this all would change.
September, 1999: I bought a small steno notebook--no fuss, no frills, just steno--with the intention of beginning the greatest diary known to man. It would be found by my progeny and hailed as a veritable guide to awesomeness. A lighthouse of inspiration. A GPS to life, if you will. It would contain all those amazing thoughts that danced around in my head, all those pondiferous questions that plague only the sharpest of minds like "Can someone really have a pen addiction?" and "If carbs are bad for you, why is the dollar hot bread and honey butter at the Cougareat so good?" It would be a masterpiece.
However, my roommate Jendar demanded stories and my thoughtful insights into the day's trivialities did not suit her. Drama! Intrigue! Cute boys! This is what my journal was missing, she said. Have a more interesting life, why don't you.
The next day, the entry read a little like this: "There I was, standing in the rain-drenched doorway, not so much looking like the sex kitten I imagined myself to be but something the aforementioned cat might have dragged in. The auditorium was full of people that looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quit place." Now, of course I could place them, they were people in my geography class. It just sounded so much better if I was mysterious about it. And it wasn't even raining, I just liked the idea of walking into class looking kinda bedraggled. Jendar was right! Lying about my day to make it more interesting made for a much better journal! From that point on, there was no turning back. Deep down inside, I knew my secret destiny was to be a spy, so in my journal, I made it so. My geography teacher, the infamous Lloyd Hudman, became the East German crimelord for whom I worked. My study group became his henchmen. Jendar became a double agent who betrayed me and tried to kill my husband (aka the guy I was currently crushing on) and ended up dying in the arms of another double agent (aka the guy SHE was crushing on). When excerpts of my journal were demanded for Jendar's story, she was not dissapointed. The girls in the dorms next door started demanding readings and cameos. I missed classes because I'd get caught up in writing and the actual boy I was crushing on (Darren) actually began to pale in comparison to my made-up love (Ben). My journal had become a high-stake crime novella and I was beginning to wonder why I had chosen International Law as my major when this seemed so much more exciting.
Eventually, coinciding with the end of the semester, the journal came to a close. Ben and I ran away together, leaving the crimelord/geography teacher Herr Hudman to shake his fist and vow revenge...everything seemed tied up with a neat, bow, as so many things in real life are apt not to do. Hudman and Ben began making regular appearances in many journals to come, such as the Backpacking Europe trip of May 2000, where I rescued Ben from the clutches of Hudman in the Catacombs of Paris...or the China Semester Abroad the following year, where I faced down a vertible army of Hudman's henchmen, led by the ninja baker I had met in the market named Mai-Lo. Nothing was too sacred for me to twist into a story...I even recall saving my sister's wedding from being bombed by the Jamaicans (successful!) and living to write about it.
So, there you have it. Journals, in all their truthful forms, are not for me. Blogs I can write in a vaguely honest manner because of their emphasis on randomness and the inherent freedom to thought-dump. But journals? They beg to be spiced up and I do it with relish. Easy as pie. Too many food references? I beg to pancake.
Now if you'll excuse me, Ben (who now goes by Preston just to fly under Hudman's radar) and I have a "party" to get to.