You’d think by now, I’d learn to never say never. At the end of 2016, I was so very sure that I’d probably most likely never journal again. I wasn’t feeling the awesome feelings everybody said I should experience and I was tired of struggling to feel those good feelings. I didn’t think that 2017 would yield any journal entries. Surprise, surprise, I wrote 57 entries. 57! My scribbles vary in length from literally one line to several pages.
By mid-April 2017, I’d doodled enough to finish my second journal and justify investing in a new one. Buying that third journal showed me that even though my heart wasn’t in journaling, my head recognised that there was something useful here.
From January to March 2018, I was on a roller coaster of activity. I battled insomnia, and most mornings I woke up with a body that felt as if it’d been run over by a double-decker bus. I had no time or energy to blog. I had to try to relax. Writing for and fiddling with the blog helps me to stay calm but since that was missing from my schedule, my journal unconsciously filled that void. In the midst of the madness, I was writing in my journal with greater regularity.
Tonight, I read some of what I wrote and hell if I know what I was going on and on about. I don’t remember some of the stuff that I did or that happened to me (old age comes to us all, don’t laugh)! Makes me wonder why I fixate on stuff as long as I do. Note to self – do not fuss over ish that you will most likely forget in a few months’ time.
My journal is part gratitude journal; part complaints bureau; part romance novel; part register of random, nonsensical thoughts; part dream journal; part vessel for venting my frustrations.
I employ the free writing technique in that I do not stop to correct spelling, grammar or punctuation. I scratch out the words that I don’t want and keep going. For a neat freak like me, that wasn’t an easy habit to adopt. Also, my words have been recorded in the most awful penmanship. Another horror I had to get used to. There’s no stopping for proper cursive when my brain is moving faster than my pen. Much of what I say is annoyingly repetitive but I guess when I’m really over something, I’ll stop “talking” about it.
Things have been going so well, I decided to name him. Yes, my journal is a boy. The name popped into my head and I Googled its meaning. I was elated to see that the meaning is intimately connected with my spirit and the direction of my journaling and thus I christened him accordingly. His name is our (his and mine, not yours and mine 🙂) little secret.
I still don’t journal daily. I journal whenever my spirit demands it. One of these days, I’ll brew a gallon of tea, get comfy, and start reading my entries from the very beginning. Can’t wait to see what stories they’ll collectively tell.