One of my New Year's resolutions for 2005 is, "Write more often."
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Of course, we all know what becomes of most resolutions. But I made this one shortly after waking up on this rainy New Year's Day, when my daughter cheerfully reminded everyone, "I turn seven this month!"
Seven years. Time flies when you're having fun. But thanks to this online journal, this bizarre exercise in escribitionism that still makes some people shake their heads in bemusement, I can — often with the disturbingly deep-reaching help of Google — easily call up details of days otherwise forgotten. Life-changing stuff like the day Jen and I got married, or the day Katie was born (or Zac or Alex), and little stuff like a drive over the then-new Interstate H-3, or ramblings written during a statistics class, or how I tried to keep busy while the family was away.
But the pickings start getting slim as early as 2002, with dozens of "under construction" placeholders scattered throughout. At least half of the entries written since then start with something like, "Boy, it's been a while!"
And last year? Ten entries.
Ten! I mean, of all things, my wife — who I suspect still thinks most web diarists are crackpots — has actually written circles around me. And the real tragedy is, 2004 was a big year: Alex was born, Tutu died, we moved in with my mom, Katie changed schools (twice), I turned 30... Yet, apart from digital photos and blurry cameraphone shots, most of that stuff is packed away in my head. And that's a lousy place to keep important stuff.
I always find a million and one things with which to distract myself, big ideas and little projects which generally make a shiny spark then fade away. I spend dozens of hours a week online, apparently doing everything except something I know I'll thank myself for doing in another seven years.
That'll be, what, 2012? Holy crap. Katie will be 14... and by then probably wishing her dad never learned to turn on a computer.
So. I will write more often. No more, "Boy, it's been a while." No more waiting so long to make up for a dry spell that the "recap" becomes simply impossible. I mean, if failing NaNoWriMo three years running has taught me anything, it should be to just write. Just do it. From deep thoughts to what I had for lunch, it's all good. Right?
Don't laugh! I mean it this time!
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