Getting ready for my upcoming move, I ran across a bunch of old journals that I’ve kept over the years.  I had picked them up with the intention of finding old story ideas and lyrical abortions that I know I wrote down off and on (but still can’t find, damn it).

What I got was a good couple of laughs at my own expense and a miniature bonfire.

I dig around here on the site occasionally, doing random keyword searches, and I have little twinges of horror at my own thoughts; I find that this sort of honesty, out here for the whole world to see, forces a stronger sense of self-examination.  Knowing that anyone can call bullshit on me for whatever goes on in my head gives me no choice but to constantly evaluate and re-evaluate not only my actions but the thought processes behind them.

The casual discomfort I sometimes feel reading over my old stuff on here is utterly incomparable to what I felt reading those journals.  Analogous to watching Scary Movie with the lights on, and then living through The Exorcist and The Shining.