Tuesday, December 05, 2006

It’s not a unicorn…

It’s a horse with a sword on his head and he protects my hopes and dreams

Although I actually have a fondness for unicorns (my moonshine is labeled “Uncle Jesse’s Unicorn Shine”…and I still sleep with a stuffed unicorn I’ve had since childhood…and, well that’s enough about my unicorns), I too have felt the sting of having one’s fragile masculinity attacked for keeping a journal.

But all that aside, lately I’ve been wondering what my journal says about me. I mean, I lead a fairly interesting life. I’m not exactly climbing mountains, but it’s not a too rare occurrence for the FBI to wake me up in the morning, and I always seem to end up in the oddest situations. Which I understand doesn’t necessarily mean I have a very interesting life, but I think it’s fair to say that semi-interesting stuff happens to me on semi-regular occasion.

Anyhoo, the point is that none of this is reflected in my journal. Leafing through it out of boredom the other day, I realized I have basically nothing in there except for women-related things. Like if I’m having girl troubles, or I run into an ex, or some such thing. Like that’s all that happens in my life.

So I got to thinking: what does this say about me? Reading it I just had the most horrible feeling about myself, like I’m an over-weight secretary with a hunky firemen calendar up on my cubicle wall that goes home every night and cries herself to sleep with a carton of ChunkyMonkey and wishes she wasn’t always just a bridesmate.

Well, ok, maybe I’m not quite that bad, but I do need to get out of the house more often…

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hey, this is Laura Madsen again.
lol, You do have a way with words. Few people can make me laugh when deatailing their patheticness. But I did the same thing with my journals not too long ago and I just had really emo sounding stuff or boy (or lack there of) trouble. Then it occured to me; we only write down the things we don't want to bore others with. So even if the FBI came to your door, you told everyone within shouting distance and so by the time you are sitting around in your underwear looking for something to do you have completly exhuated the tale (however entertaining it might be).

That is my theory anyways.