I remember starting a diary on several occasions, but the best bash I ever had at it was when I was seventeen when I kept the habit up for two or three years. I wrote my last entry after I returned from a trip overseas. Let me see now – that must have been in 1978.
I’m fifty now, and a lot of water’s gone under the bridge. It doesn’t really feel it, though. You see, I still feel me; I feel the same person. And though a lot has gone down, and though in many ways I’ve grown – I’ll admit there are gaps – nothing much has changed at all. Essentially nothing.
And that is a clue.
So, instead of looking back, should I look forward? No. This is one matter I’ll touch on (and harp on): that there’s no such thing as time, not the thing that everyone imagine tamed on their wrist. There’s this that I must get down on paper for posterity. This diary must serve as the receptacle of my musings, for if I don’t collect them somewhere who else will? Yeah, you’ve come to the home of the Applied Philosopher.
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