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Adventures in Writing, Reading & Book Culture

The Neglectful Diarist

I haven’t kept up with the blog journal entries simply because I haven’t thought much has merited writing about on a daily or bi-weekly basis. Cold weather! blah. English language classes! blah. Students giving me inside company info that I can’t talk about in public! blah. (though seriously interesting.) Me finishing the long and fantastically rich “The Alexandrian Quartet” by Lawrence Durrell! Actually worth writing a whole series of posts on, so maybe I will.

But then I thought: this journal-diary-blog is as much for me, chronicling the highs lows and middles of life lived fully in another country. These so far 100+ entries establish a narrative (of a sort) that I’ll look at from time to time for the rest of my life. That’s what journals are for, of course. Virginia Woolf once observed (in her journal, naturally): there’s no point in keeping a journal if you don’t often open it to read portions of what you were thinking on some day in the recent or distant past.

As we continually struggle with mind, the concept of being, future, past, THE NOW, and the forever-after-of-that-looming-reality-called-death, a look onto the window of our gentle or tempestuous life given through words is at least a marker, a pause for breath, that counts toward Solace of Moment.


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