Ég nota bloggið sem persónulega dagbók - Fáar færslur eru birtar opinberlega þar - Hinar eru geymdar.......

og kannski ætlaðar til notkunar annar staðar, fyrir aðra, eða bara alls ekki.

Það að geta hlaðið blogginu sínu niður á disk, og sýslað með það þar, þarf að komast í gagnið sem fyrst.

Mér var ekki alveg sama þegar diskastæðan fræga hrundi áður er fídusinn "niðurhal bloggs" sem er von á hjá bloggamönnum, væri kominn í gagnið. Já, ég nota þetta sem dagbók þar sem ég skrifa allan fjandann sem mér dettur í hug í það og það skiptið, og af því leiðir að lesa má úr hverri færslu svona nokkurnvegin hvernig manni líður og miðar í það skiptið, en nota bene aðeins fáar eru birtar.

Ég hef afskaplega gaman af að lesa flest bloggin á mbl.blog, en sum pirra mig í keng en les þau samt aftur seinna. Hef lært mikið og margt hérna, til dæmis það að koma hreint fram og segja hvað manni finnst um einhverja sérstaka persónu er oft, mjög oft tekið á annan hátt en meiningin átti að vera. Það flokkast örugglega undir eitthvað undrið, eins og rithefti eða eitthvað gáfulegt.

Mörg meilin hef ég fengið um það að ég sé að eltast við konur á blogginu, en líka önnur til hvatningar á því að læra að skrifa góðan texta og koma frá mér efni á sem skiljanlegastan hátt.

Þá hef ég alveg látið vera að sækjast eftir skriðuföllum heimsókna, sem er þó í raun auðvelt að ná, líka fyrir nörda eins og mig. Hef séð það hér.

En hef verið býsna latur að kommetna á færslur bloggvina minna, og bið forláts á því. Því allir vilja jú fá pínu athygli eftir glæsilega skrifaðar greinar.

Ætlaði að þýða eftirfarandi grein sem ég kíki stundum í þegar ég þarf afréttara, en nennti því ekki núna.

Time in My Pocket

Written by Michael R. Boyter

It's been said that nothing disappears faster than money!

There have been times that I have had a fairly good amount of money in my pocket. This has usually been when I started out on a trip of some kind; a vacation for example.

Call it a false sense of security or maybe even laziness, but I usually never bother with keeping too close of a watch over how much money I have actually spent while on this trip. Just pull another twenty out of the ole pocket and move along.

"I've plenty of money", I think to myself.

A hotel room paid for here and another dinner there. Another twenty-dollar bill goes toward a souvenir and then don't forget about breakfast the next morning right before I fill up my car with fuel and hit the road again.

I reach a point in my trip that I begin to notice that the wad of twenty-dollar bills is unexpectedly smaller. Suddenly with great concern I hesitantly stop and count the money that is in my pocket. I'm afraid to actually know the answer.

I lament to myself that I should have been keeping better track. At the same time, I tell myself that, next time, I'll keep better track.

When I started out on the trip, I felt that I had plenty of money.

My mind races back, franticly. A feeling of defeated comes over me, as I try to retrace where all the money went! What follows is a sunken feeling, often accompanied by a big bought of depression. How could I let so much of it get away from me? I sit and wonder where it all has gone.

Consider now the years in your lifetime and compare them to the money in the above story. Can you see any comparisons?

It an aweful feeling when you cannot account completely for all the years you've lived. Where have all the years gone?

I just finished reading "The Notebook", written by my favorite author Nicholas Sparks. There is a passage near the end of that book that really made an impression on me and reinforced thoughts that I've always had about keeping journals and life stories.

The elderly central figure in the story is reflecting back over his life:

"I wonder what my daddy would think of my life.I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM FOR FIFTY YEARS and he is now but a shadow in my thoughts. I cannot picture him clearly anymore; his face is darkened as if a light shines from behind him. I am not sure if this is due to a failing memory or simply the passage of time. I have only one picture of him and this too has faded. In another ten years it will be gone and so will I, and his memory will be erased like a message in the sand. IF NOT FOR MY DIARIES, I WOULD SWEAR I HAD LIVED ONLY HALF AS LONG AS I HAVE. Long periods of my life seem to have vanished. And even now, I read the passages and wonder who I was when I wrote them, for I cannot remember the events of my life. THERE ARE TIMES I SIT AND WONDER WHERE IT ALL HAS GONE! "

Just as he could swear he'd lived only half the years he had, I would swear that I somehow should have had more money left. Since I failed to keep a record, I can no longer remember completely where all the money went.

Likewise the memories we have of our parents will surely fade to varying Degrees without taking measure to record stories and events from their lives; now while they are still alive. If our parents have passed on already, go to work at gathering all the memories of him or her from living relatives such as your aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters.

The memories and lives of our parents and grandparents are not completely gone until the last person with a memory of them, is also passed away. A story forgotten can never be retold!

I have long been a believer in keeping a journal or diary and preserving our life story, both for our own benefit and that of our children and our children's children.

Your life story should contain memories from your past, who you currently are and what you've done with your life so far. Also include what you presently believe, think, value, hope and dream for.

So take some time and write at least a little about your unique life. This undertaking will be the difference between contently looking back over your life and sadly swearing that you've only lived half the time that you have.

Happy is the man that can trace a line from the end of his life back to the beginning.

It's been said that nothing disappears faster than time!

Sko ef þú ert komin hingað þá er færslan búin adna kjáninn þinn.......

 

Athugasemdir

[Ásdís Sigurðardóttir, 29.7.2008 kl. 23:36]

Sko nú er ég spæld, aldrei hefurðu reynt neitt við mig  er eg ekki frábær eins og hinar gellurnar þínar???

[Lára Hanna Einarsdóttir, 29.7.2008 kl. 23:38]

Flott grein og sönn, takk... 

[Jenný Anna Baldursdóttir, 30.7.2008 kl. 00:12]

Jabb aldrei þessu vant er hægt að lesa þig með ánægju.  Djók.

Yndislegur drengur á myndinni.

[Þröstur Unnar, 30.7.2008 kl. 09:40]

Þið eruð frábærar sjálfar, en viðreynsluhópurinn svonefndi er utan bloggvinasvæðisins.

[Villi Asgeirsson, 1.8.2008 kl. 13:01]

Þú segir það, með þrjár athugasemdir og engar frá karlmönnum.

Annars var þetta rosalega flott færsla, bæði það sem þú skrifaðir og greinin sem þú peistaðir inn. Ég hef aldrei nennt að skrifa dagbók í meira en þrjá daga en bloggið mitt er orðið yfir tveggja ára. Ef Hádeigismóarnir hrynja ekki endanlega á ég ansi mikið efni sem ég get lesið í ellinni. Þó ég skrifi ekkert sérstaklega mikið um sjálfan mig og mína, skín það sennilega í gegn að einhverju leyti.

[Hrannar Baldursson, 7.8.2008 kl. 22:16]

Ég er sammála þér. Starfsmenn Moggabloggsins tjáðu mér að þeir væru að setja saman Export pakka fyrir bloggið. Það er ómögulegt að vista hverja og eina færslu.