I am terrified of my diary!!

by Juliet Platt on September 13, 2010

in Uncategorized

Returning to work after the summer break is usually a time to savour. As a child it meant new pens and pencils, new exercise books, the sense of a fresh start.

Unfortunately, life has been so hectic over the past couple of months that I haven’t quite got round to the savouring part yet. And “fresh start” actually feels more like “more of the same”, with a little bit of  “ramping it up” thrown in.

And the other day I came to the realisation that every time I have to look at my diary I come out in a bit of a cold sweat.

Its ring-binding looks like gappy teeth; its black silky book-mark like a snake’s tongue, and I imagine it gobbling up my time, swallowing it down into one of its 365 stomachs.

The sight of an empty page is rarer and rarer as the weeks march on. My diary is so greedy it has stored up fodder months in advance so there is little chance of catching it out with any free time.

Last night we sat round the dinner table going through work commitments, keyboard lessons, sports fixtures and weekend plans, coordinating 4 separate beasts into something that might afford us a chance to catch up with  friends whom we haven’t seen for a year. I resent how these wild diaries demand to be fed, how constantly hungry they are, and how needy for attention.

But then I recall a time when I couldn’t wait to have a bulging, over-full diary. I am a product of the eighties – the decade of Mr Creosote-esque filofaxes, bursting at the seams with life’s busy-ness.

For the yuppies of yesteryear it didn’t really matter whether all their appointments and commitments were really necessary. What was more important then was to be seen to be in demand. Back then, image was everything, and the filofax just another symbol of a full life.

Now I see that there is a huge difference between a life that is filled full and one that is fulfilled. Happily as I look back through the pages of 2010 I’m pleased to say that everything written there is something that I absolutely believe in. And the fact that there is so much of it means that  life is pretty rich.

So maybe my diary is not so scary after all. Maybe it’s less gluttonous monster and more boundlessly energetic puppy, always available, and always happy to receive loving intentions.

Better catch up!

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