Let me tell you my last thought

Three days ago I found myself sitting next to GR at the kitchen table in his grandparents' house. We were eating pork and enjoying a sunset with two people who have been married for over twice the amount of time that either of us has been breathing.

After passing over the topics of recipes and lame jokes, eventually our conversation wound around to the topic of memory, writing, and diary-keeping. Both grandparents agreed with surprising earnestness that, at their advanced age, they would heartily encourage that GR and I (along with anyone else our age) take up journaling, in the most basic sense of recording our mundane factual life events ("Woke up at 9 a.m. Considered not showering but showered anyway. Rewarded myself with Captain Crunch"). Seemingly boring and tedious at the time of composition, they insisted that such a compilation--inevitably full of repetition and evidence of couch potatodom--is invaluable over time, especially when years pass with few extraordinary events and it becomes exceedingly difficult to remember anything in particular that happened during an entire decade.

Their point is good and, frankly, fairly self-evident when you think about it, which makes me all the more amused by the fact that I started this blog (my longest and most regular method of LifeRecord yet) with the specific, conscious intent of avoiding the exact type of journaling style that they promoted. It's a real struggle for me to do what they ask, actually. Even when I was waist deep in the self-aggrandizing waters of early- to mid-teenagerdom, I would barely approach an attempt to write in any great detail about my day before thinking, "Man, this is stupid," writing, Baked cookies. Watched a movie. Came home. Good times. and calling it a day. The only way that I've managed to keep this blog going for so long is that I've managed to consistently prattle on about things that are more or less objective and usually only tangentially about my current life.

I suppose you could argue that I'm simply presuming that FutureMe will find my CurrentSelf's opinions and thought processes more interesting than what I do on a day-to-day basis, memory be damned. She'll be too cool for the minutiae. Why so haughty, FutureMe?