That's a line from Plenty; the movie version of the play from 1985. The actor who says it is Tracey Ullman. I'm not sure if it's the exact line; but that's how I remember it. And I can't say I disagree with it.
Did you ever read this book:
The Morning Pages was Ms. Cameron's main exercise. So, what you do is, you get yourself a notebook and every morning, you sit down with your beverage of choice and hand-write three pages of whatever. It doesn't matter what you write. You're basically clearing your brain's palette of subconscious residue. You're just spewing your psychic junk onto those pages as a kind of reset. Every morning. Three pages. Hand written. It was that simple.
But I'm not a morning person.
Thinking about it now, I realize that what The Morning Pages are, are (is?) a kind of diary. However, it's kind of a diary out of duress. That's why it's so difficult to do.
I was thinking about this blog. What is it if not a diary? But it's now a public diary. People other than me are reading it while I'm still alive, and thankfully, kicking. I mean, I started this blog as a sort of light-hearted exploration of my experiences in Show Business; in the Big Pond and the little ponds. It didn't take long, however, for me to start sharing things that weren't quite so light-hearted. Like my attempt to be a male prostitute. That is now out there in the world. Anyone who reads this will now know that at one point in my life I set out to be a prostitute. But you know what? I don't care. It's a part of my life. I did it and I can't change it. But I didn't go through with it. I was at a desperate place in my life; but I hung on and things got better.
I guess this blog is my iteration of The Morning Pages. It helps me to vent my inner-turmoil about what's going on in my life and the world at large. Because, let's face it, the world at large right now is a shit-show. I think a great many of us are suffering PTSD after living for so many years with a loud-mouthed clinical NARCISSIST as our leader. An imbecilic child who trashed the playground and left the mess for the rest of us to clean up. The wild-fires, heat-waves, floods, food shortages, inflation, mass shootings et al are kind of like...meh. Hey, I lived through the Trump presidency. I swear to God if he somehow manages to get another four years I'm moving to Ireland. Or Costa Rica.
So, I lost my original train of thought. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I was musing to myself as to why I'm sharing deeply personal details about my life here. I guess I'm sharing my life experience with you. My degradations, as it were, as a way to connect with you. Whoever you are. And who are you? I don't know. I only personally know two people who I'm aware read this on a fairly regular basis. Everyone else is an abstract. I can't know exactly who you are. But I'm pretty sure you're a human being. A human being who lives in the same world that I do. Someone I can commiserate with. Commiserate with, with humor (humor that seems to be inching further and further towards the gallows!). I guess, too, that I'm trying to control "the narrative" of my own life...not there's anyone out there wanting to tell their version of my life...
Humor. That's the key.
And I hope you find me such.