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throwback thursday: mr. schnur

here's me in a bowling shirt i bought at a thrift store. it says "mr. schnur" above the pocket. i loved that shirt. i don't know what happened to it. this picture was taken when i was in college.

here's something i wrote in my journal about 10 years ago, after not writing for some weeks:

april 29th
i don't know why i'm choosing tonight to write of all nights. i'm not inspired. nothing particularly exciting or tragic is happening to me. i am just writing. its been awhile and this is a good habit that i have fallen out of. a problem i had not expected to be mine, since writing has always seemed so natural.


why do i write? to catch up? to catch who up? myself? is it for future generations or for history buffs? is it so my great-grandchildren can discover me? is it to give me something to do? or is it because i am supposed to? like breathing. i think that's it. but why have i stopped then? why stop breathing? i hold my breath when i am afraid and i feel the need to be absolutely silent in order to hear what's going on.


its as if the noise of my living is too loud to keep me alive, when i am most afraid. hence it is with writing. i think i am framed in fear these days, and so i do not write. the noise of my writing - not of the pencil's scratch so much as the soul's remarks - is too loud for my fear to handle. somewhere deeper than thoughts, i think to myself, "if you write you might hear yourself - really - and you don't want to do that." and somewhere deeper than deciding, i decide to listen to my fearful self. and so i stumble through my days, holding my breath because i'm so afraid to be heard - even to hear myself. its pitiful really. i suppose i still have so much growing up to do.
greg.

Comments

Crafty P said…
oh boy. i remember that greg.
Mary said…
when reading your throwback journal entry, I could completely relate. its in times of complete chaos or sadness that you would think one would need to put words down on paper...but for me, I think its sometimes too much to immortalize it (in a way) on paper...for future grandchildren and historians. it forces me to face my problems that im dealing with and im usually really good at pushing them in the back of my mind. its only when i have them good and shoved away that i pull out the journal only to have to write a tomb on what all has changed in my life. anyways...i feel you...wierd hairy greg.

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