Years ago I kept an online journal, one of the first web journals. And I even managed to update regularly for a few months before I got out of the habit and then went weeks without saying anything. And then I started up again for a bit, then quit. You get the idea.

Then I started a private, invitation only journal for a bit. But it was a hassle for friends to read and I still wasn't quite comfortable. And I started keeping a journal at LiveJournal a while back, but I never quite found my voice, my audience. And then some jerk from my distant past showed up to make fun of what he thinks is my life (boy was he far off the mark). . . and I hid a lot of journal entries and started rethinking it all yet again. I don't need that kind of abuse.

The thing is: I may post a lot of stuff here and on my webpages and on the net in general. But there's a lot more that I'm not saying. I rarely talk about my friends, not 'cuz I don't think they're fabulous, but because I worry about invading their privacy. Or accidently getting something they said or did wrong. I don't trust my memory very well, not for recounting other people's actions. If I screw up when recounting something I did, so be it.

If people want to judge me for stuff I say in my journal, so be it. But I've decided to start writing in it regularly again. I'm not sure how much will be introspective mumble jumble (like today's entry) or how much will be simply recounting much more mundane things. The shouting out of random thoughts that are a bit too wordy for this weblog. Jeez, I'm getting wordy here already. So I'll stop.