My coworker Emily recently wrote a blog post about the golden age of Xangas, and it reminded me of a time when I had the seemingly infinite ability to ramble on about myself and my completely uninteresting (sorry, middle and high school me) days in excruciating detail.
It reminded me of years even earlier when I somehow filled a Diaryland diary with over 600 entries of middle school drivel. (No, I am not linking to these things.) Incidentally, I also had a “secret” Diaryland where I wrote about stuff I didn’t want the readers of my main Diaryland to see (read: where I complained about the annoying stuff my best friend did).
I even kept a “blog” while I was abroad, which I updated with various French-titled ramblings.
This all means there are literally hundreds of thousands of words about my boring days floating around listlessly on the internet.
And that’s not even to mention a bunch of real, physical journals that I carried around everywhere with me in my backpack, writing thoughts about my day during my bumpy forty-minute bus ride, or pasting in printouts of titillating AIM conversations with boys I thought were cute. I filled up seven composition notebooks with this crap, notebooks that I ever so creatively collaged the fronts and backs of with images of my pets and favorite bands and amusing quotes, back in the days before we neatly collected all this stuff with Pinterest.
Which leaves me wondering: how on earth did I have so much to say?
When did I become so boring?
Are my days now really that much more boring than the days when I was going to the same seven classes a day with the same group of people, five times a week? I feel like sometime between about my senior year of high school and the first year of college all of these things went eerily silent.
Now, instead of filling my empty time with secretive scribbling, I consume: TV shows or blog posts about content marketing or by dawdling around on social media. I sometimes start stubs of posts for this silly blog so that it doesn’t end up like my other silly blog (last updated just shy of a year ago, I see. I’m doing well!), but they just don’t materialize.
I almost long for those long bus rides, that empty time that I can’t fill up by fiddling around on my phone or refreshing my Twitter feed. My phone died in the parking lot of the library the other day when I was waiting for my boyfriend and I sat there for five minutes entirely unsure what to do with myself.
Obviously I should start a paper journal again.