How are you handling your 7, or 8, or 230 deadly sins these days?

Just a warning to all of you who might be seeing your New Year’s resolutions fall by the wayside with more rapidity than even you expected, Lent begins early this year (on Feb. 6), so all the things you haven’t been able to accomplishment in terms of personal betterment, will continue to be unaccomplished for 40 days after Feb. 6.

But, here’s something to make you feel better, wayward sinner and decadent human being that you are, some theorists hold out hope via resolution compromises. Sort of like trading carbon points, if you will.

For example, chocolate cake and ice cream consumed in the dark doesn’t count as a violation. Furthermore, consuming a new cocktail you found you didn’t like at all (maybe a kumquat and chocolate syrup martini) doesn’t count as a drink. Feel better about yourself now?

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Onward, as Mort Sahl used to say – maybe he still does. Is he still alive? – and consider the topic of journals. How many of you keep a journal? In the old days journals used to be called diaries. But, ‘diary’ has a patina of pre-adolescent girl about it (except in the case of Samuel Pepys) so now thoughtful grownups keep journals. Seems sorta more professional, like something a ‘real’ writer would do.

Speaking of ‘real’ writers, what is a real writer? Is that a man or woman who gets paid for their print musings? An awful lot of shit, if you look around you, is done for pay. And, I have no doubt an awful lot of fine bits of literary musings have never seen money or kind exchanged.

Back to journals. I keep a journal. I have for about a dozen years, and I did so sporadically before that, from the time I was in my teens. “She likes me! She really, really likes me! She must; she referred to me by name today rather than ‘whoever’. Of course, she called me Brian rather than Ian, but what’s two letters?”

My current journal is much more adult (God, I hope it is), even sophisticated. If I now deduce somebody ‘likes me’ I merely refer to her as “interesting.” Lets me off the hook.

Speaking of which, how candid should a diary/journal be? I mean by that how we all have thoughts and musings that aren’t necessarily for public consumption (or for other people in the house consumption), so do we censor ourselves?

Do you censor yourself if you keep a journal?

Supposedly the journal loses its therapeutic impact if thoughts are deleted that perhaps should be explored. Good old Sam Pepys in 17th century London didn’t censor himself. He explores his various trysts with comely maids (and there were many) to coming home drunk and pissing in the fireplace. Nice.

Anyway, I probably do some self-scrutinizing. Sometimes I haven’t, and when I look back at old journals I find myself feeling a bit uncomfortable at some of the thoughts I expressed. But, they say that’s OK, too. If some aspect of your life that seemed vital in 1998 is no longer of any import, it may show you’ve grown. Or may not. Life’s like that.

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And finally:

Watch what you write department: Sign at the express checkout at my supermarket (which also contains a dry cleaning department): “Why not drop off your pants?” I asked the clerk if the sign meant right there as I was standing in line? What an enchantingly friendly place.