I started carrying around a notebook again because I am in observer/writer mode all of the sudden. The last time I felt like this was sometime in the winter of 2013, and that was when I bought the notebook on a trip from Boston to Brooklyn. In it I recorded some shit that went down on that trip, and some shit that happened that weekend. And then that was pretty much it for that notebook, save for some wine tasting notes and some cocktail recipes and a few scattered coffee shop musings.
Man that shit was pretty good! I was just writing shit that meant something to me, really. I don’t know if it would actually be good if I were to put it up here, I just think it calls to mind those times really well for me. Little scenes about waiting for the bus and shit, back when I worked at that restaurant where I eventually got fired because I didn’t appreciate what I had. I won’t make that mistake again unless I get Alzheimer’s. But that’s beside the point. I hope I’m able to capture the essence of this moment in time in that same notebook now, if not for others at least for myself.
I read today in the New York Times that writing about yourself and trying to figure it out has been scientifically proven to make you happier. Based on that I should be happy as a mother fucker.
Writing about myself only makes me less sad if anything. They MIGHT have a point, but like you said, I should be bleeding candy and jumping for joy all the time based on that statement.