I have kept a journal of some form or another for most of my life. Starting when I was sixteen years old I started writing down my thoughts on a pad or in a book. All that I wrote in the distant past is now gone. Most of it was burned. Some of it was simply just tossed in the trash.
It was and is more than just random thoughts. It has been a record of my life. Mostly it was written during the most trying times. But then a large percentage of my life has been one trying time after another.
I have been keeping a journal regularly now since 2003. Nine continuous years is quite a record for me and I have been saving those scribblings from then until now.
Soon those writings will also join the scrap heap. I will not leave any handwritten record of my existence. 2012 is the last year of my journaling, and that not past May as May is the outside limit of my life.
I also have written academic papers and essays. These also are going in the bin.
Blogs have been a large part of my literary efforts for the past five years. Closing Remarks is my third blog. All three of them have been here at Word Press. The advent of blogging was marvelous.
There is a large difference between the two though. When I write in my journal I am the only one who ever sees it. The knowledge that it is perfectly private gives me much more freedom of expression. I can say things I could never say in a blog. I can relate details and feelings from moments in my personal history that I would never share with anyone else.
And, now that my life is coming to an end, those journals are destined for the oblivion of the landfill. They will never be read by other eyes unless some trash picker resurrects them and I count the odds for that as slim to none.
The life of Hamilton is bound to pass into obscurity. My passage will go unseen except for a few faint ripples that will quickly recede into the g;assy surface of the surrounding sea.
All that is scheduled to remain are this bits and bytes of digitized sputtering — a grain of sand on an endless coastline.