I have a journal.
I used to write in it every day. But as time went by, I reduced my correspondence; unconsciously, I wrote on it only when I got too stressed, too sad, or upset over something.
What began as a medium of sharing my life, soon became a medium to vent. And then I realized, that’s not how you treat a diary.
My diary is my friend, and what’s the difference between me and other people if I’m using my diary only to complain?
And then I read in another blog about the good things the author had in her life. That’s when it hit me: I’m not pathetic; I have a life, and a thumping good one too.
People might think all I ever do — from 7 to 7 —is sit in my place and stare into my laptop, but no one knows how much there’s within my screen.
I read some excellent and funny articles on McSweeny’s, I watch food porn on Facebook, I chat with friends from far away, I share a photo status, I write a blog post or two, I read a few blogs, I comment on some more, I like plenty. Then I go for a coffee break, and I get back, hating myself for not sticking to the ‘drink less caffeine’ rule. Chiding myself, I get on with work — because I have to be sincere to what I earn — and then in the middle of it, I leave for a quiet lunch with a colleague, then some tea, and more Facebook, and again my personal blog, a little bit of reading, editing, writing, and rewriting.
And all the while, my headphones never come off.
And then as the sun sets, I leave for dinner and then back home. I take a good twenty minutes to relax and get out of the office-mood, and lying on my bed, I unwind — for now, with Jane Austen’s Persuasion.
What do I have to complain?
The Chaos Within 