It’s August. This is the month when i start to twitch and my body feels the emergence of a new year. New Year’s Eve was never my “new year” because it’s smack in the middle of school and there’s nothing new about it… maybe that’s because i never finished my finals before NYE. Most years, August would mean a long journey, the closing of my summer project and a long drive across country back to school. Sometimes, this was punctuated with a visit to Black Rock City.

One thing always happens as a new year emerges – the desire to clean. Usually, i’m moving in August. Aside from last year (where i moved in July), this is the first year since ?1992? where i’m not moving in August (in HS, i was either moving homes or moving back from summer camp). Spring cleaning never happens, but moving usually requires cleaning. The problem is that i despise cleaning. Yet, the urge is there. Last night, i walked into my room, cringed and decided to clean some digital bits instead. Of course, one thing about cleaning (physical or digital) is that it means a walk down memory lane.

I’ve had over 12 online journals, diaries, blogs since 1996. They’re really scattered. I’ve decided that it’s time to bring some of them together. I’ve been asking people how their blogging voice evolved, but scouring my own journals was a real wake-up call. I’ve imported a mere fraction of my entries so far, but it’s so startling to hear the different things that i wrote over the years. I wrote about books, i wrote observations from the streets, i wrote about my depression and ongoing health crises. Most of what i wrote was personal. These were, after all, my diaries and journals.

Some of it is outright eerie. I didn’t address 9/11 in writing for various reasons. I had forgotten that i went to visit the mental health clinic on 9/10 because i was dealing with a bout of depression. That day, i wrote:

there’s something inherently wrong about having bitchy, impatient, mean administrators working in the front desk of a mental health department. hrmpft.

I have to wonder about their attitude the next day.

In an attempt to recognize my past, i decided to import almost everything, regardless of my own horrors and embarrassment about the mundane or foolish. Yes, this is a collapsing of contexts and it gives me the shudders. But i kept thinking about a conversation i had with a friend last December. He kept telling me about the importance of these historical artifacts, about how they allow for reflection, both from the writer and the reader. I’ve decided to own my ups and downs and include those entries for posterity, to remind me of where i came from. ::gulp::