Before going to bed last night I skimmed through my journal. It's funny and rather...quaint that this journal has actually lasted three years. And I can definately remember what I was feeling when I was writing each entry.

I need to start looking for a job. I'm not unemployed, but I really don't want to work at a video store. At the same time, I don't want to go back to earning minimum wage.

Right now I'm in the process of deleting all my index pages / moving images to another directory / moving files / creating new directories...both here at johndoe and at my old old old geocities page.

I noticed reading last night that I also sound like a complete incompetent fool thanks to the many typos and spelling errors I've made, and I'm very tempted to go back and alter the errors or even complete sentances...but I know, in the drunken entries, in the angry entries, even the terribly sad ones, it more or less expresses what I was writing.

Sometimes I wish I could post what I'd actually written. I think a journal is so much more personal that way when you can read the actual scripted, angry jagged letters, or the bubbly penmanship of its writer. But I've been told that either my writing is horribly hard to read, or that it's beautiful.

I know it used to be. But I don't really care either.

What's cool about my instructor on Monday is that she's sooo.. Carefree as well. "Who cares ef ya sey the wrong answer? Is anybody going to care? Even ef they do, can ya really tell?? Oh wait, [snaps fingers] I know, you'll think really hard too."

I like that.

So like my files and entries will still be up but there'll be no archive pages. Maybe.

I'm feeling a little like Dave Van did when he took down his old entries. I realize that I repeat myself a LOT. I'm just telling a story, after all. And stories are meant to be repeated.

I keep coming back to the computer and adding to this entry. It's so beautiful outside, I really want to go out. But there's no one to go out with. *sigh*