The Cracks

I've been thinking, maybe I should write stories instead of journaling. Because in a way, the blag world is a sort of story. I can make stuff up if I want to, be vague and annoying if I want to, and create characters that people can only imagine. It's kind of the same thing, except that one ends up more like whining, and the other is just made up stuff. The only thing is that I'm not sure if I have the attention span to write stories, even if they are short. I get bored. I want to get to the point and blurt out, well, he dies in the end. Or they buy a house and live happily ever after. I get tired of the details of other people's lives, even if they are people that I invent. I know where they are going. I know what they are seeing, thinking, feeling. So I have to skip it and get to the good stuff.

If I were to change some of my journal entries to the third person and flesh things out a little more, maybe then I'd have some stories that would be a bit worth reading. It's difficult to imagine, since my life is so boring I don't remember the last bar I stepped foot in. Or the last fling I had. Or the last boy I flirted with. The last margarita I had. Sigh. Can a boring life be interesting? And interesting life be boring?

I guess it all depends on what happens in the cracks in between.