He was an English curate (I'll look that up for myself in a minute) in the Welsh Border region, and he wrote everything down in a journal, everything from 1870-1879. "Why do I keep this voluminous journal! (apparently his grammar wasn't best, as here he posed a question with an exclamation tacked to it...) I can hardly tell. Partly because life appears to me such a curious and wonderful thing that it almost seems a pity that even such a humble and uneventful life as mine should pass altogether away without some record such as this." His journal was published in 1941 as Kilvert's Diary.
I used to write everything down. Then living life got to be such an effort that writing about it would have given it a limp. But I want to start writing every day again, because there is no doubt in my mind that, if I am to ever write, these recent years will serve as substance. And besides, I miss those conversations with myself.
So I'm going to write again, every day, on here. Starting tonight.
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