Long lie-in, and wibble about journals.
Perhaps I should have got up sooner, I feel kind of dopey in a too-much-sleep way now, if that makes any sense at all. Some mildly disturbing dreams, which seem to have vanished beyond the memory of being disturbed. Lying in bed dozing for hours is a great way to dream lots at least.
I've no idea what to do with the rest of my day.
Perhaps I shall try mobbsy's latest trick of looking at random LJs. I suspect by his classification I come under "nothing interesting to say" too. Of course what's interesting probably varies by audience. I hope I'm slightly more interesting to my friends than I would be to a stranger. And given I write at least partly for myself I hope I'll be interesting to me if I read back over this some time in the future.
I like having a journal that's mostly completely open to all. I make a point of never making posts which are readable to only friends, or to some subset of friends. I have found myself self-censoring sometimes as a result though. I wonder if in the future I'll remember the things I left out from the hints. Or perhaps when it's bitterness and aching (which often it has been) it'll be better to just forget. I've made a few posts which were entirely private over the last few months, as a sort of experiment. It feels kind of odd. As does the odd bit of writing I've done on paper too. Maybe some day I'll go back and make them public too. Along with the entries from 1989 to 1998 which really were my own personal diary as a teenager and at university. I still doubt they're interesting to anyone but me.
Of course some of you read the first couple of paragraphs and then didn't get this far, because it was too dull.