Christine's secret public journal.

Aside from my blog, I've been writing in a journal again. When I do that, I'm not trying to be clever or anything, because I don't feel like I have to impress anyone. Because really, who's going to see it? Me. And, like, I guess if someone stole it from me, they would see it, at which point they would quickly be sorry, because it would be DULL. There wouldn't be a lot of naked parts or anything (probably) and there wouldn't be any opium dens or famous people or meetings of fight club or even bar brawls. There would be stuff like: knitting, and me going to the gym and talking to my mom, or Al, or Amanda. Or me going and having lunch with W.L., or talking on Twitter with Emily, or going to Barnes and Noble, or analyzing humor with Bruce or eating hummus sandwiches with sprouts on whole wheat pita bread, and talking about how Al Gore is so smart and trying to sort my life out like Shaun, only without zombies or Peter Serafinowicz. (Too bad. Although he was eventually a zombie as well. Also too bad.)

I really like my new journal, which I write in with pencil, an old habit of mine that I've resurrected. I think it'll be pretty much perfect once I put one of my Apple logo stickers in it somewhere. A couple of my entries have been the lyrics of songs, which got me to thinking. I wish there was a way to have a journal--the same compact, portable form--where you could not only write stuff, but add tunes and pics as you saw fit, and have it all wrapped up in a neat little package.

You know what? They have that. It's called a laptop, smart kid. You're sitting in it. Duh.

Sometimes I feel good and am relatively sure I'm with it and will be okay. Other times, however...life grabs me by the hair, kicks me and makes me feel like Kelso from "That 70s Show."