Since 1986 I have kept journals. This was well before Oprah's journaling phase and I started right after I moved back to NYC from the Virgin Islands. I've amassed about 55 of these in all different shapes and sizes and covers that suited me at the time.( I went through a Keith Haring 'Pop Shop' journal phase in the late 80's) When Brian and I fled (and I mean hit the ground running) from South Beach (Miami) in 1992 and we were limited for space in his Jetta to drive to Los Angeles, I brought only some clothes and all my journals up til that point with me. The rest of my belongings I put in storage in Homestead, Fla. which then got damaged in a hurricane and I lost every possession of my life and received $75 because I never filled out the insurance form. Since then, wherever I go, I bring the whole group with me, because they are my 'fire' grab. I have them all in this antique wooden Jack Daniels crate from the 40's. (Figures-liquor)
The last couple of years I've felt very, how should I say, milk like. I feel I have an expiration date on me and since I have no kids or house or Life Insurance for that matter the only thing I have to leave behind as my being here are these journals. No one in my family reads anything more than The Post so I can not see them staying up late into the night riveted by the eccentric warblings of their dearly departed brother/son. I think that they would honor them by keeping them, yet nothing would become of them in so far as the romantic notions I would have had I been bequeathed such a lot.
I was thinking of stipulating in a will something to the effect of putting an ad in a well to do college newspaper, which has a good writing program and see if any student might want to be the benefactor of these musings. I would have left them to my college but I can not see the value in leaving a Culinary School the ramblings and thoughts of an alcoholic, sex crazed procrastinator and dreamer. It's funny because of my four closest friends, neither of them are readers as well. As a side note, a recent fuck buddy of mine had seen the lot of them and said that HE would pay for them to be well kept in a security box!
I've been typing each journal, non sequentially onto my hard drive. The fact that I am taking them out randomly has me experiencing kind of fucked up dreams and thoughts when I go for my walk/jog. I have been googling all these 'co-stars' of my life whom I have either burned bridges with or who have stop calling when my drinking and drunk dialing got out of hand. I have been amused and stultified while transcribing. I have seen my potential reach it's apex and I have read my fears and on going anxieties crush me into devastation. I have writings more vivid than a powerpoint lecture and I have seen where I have been an absolute sucker and pushover to eventual users I had let into my life.
Maybe this will be cathartic for me in some way. Maybe since memoirs have been the flavor of the last few years I will send some of the completed works out. I don't know.