I kind of have this problem where I tend to personify things that are not living… like my journal for instance. An array of emotions flooded my mind when starting this blog (this last time) and my journal's feelings wracked my heart. How would it (gender is unknown) feel to have me write these seemingly "best works" of my writing skills on a computer and not on it's own tender pages whom I've loved since I was 8?
For my own peace at night, I must state that my journals are with the hope diamond in the bottom of the ocean where you will NEVER get to them.Sorry.
I really had a hard time with how to explain this new venture of blogging to my journal. I started writing, stating how this blog thing could never compare or compete to our relationship, but was something I wanted to pursue none the less. I admitted it would have better grammar, correct spelling, and more eloquent wording(thank you delete button, remember type writers? I'm young enough that I shouldn't, but I do. I'll write more on my technology delays another day). It hurt me to let it know another avenue would also share a piece of me. But then, I remembered an old limerick I had written in years past "…because when you love someone, you give them the most of you, you don't slack off - giving only your best reviews…" And I felt better about the whole blog thing. My journal has the most of me, the good, the bad, and the brutally honest me. I can't really scratch out pen on paper and I hate using whiteout, so my journals are just the constant honest ramblings of me, and I love that it keeps those ramblings a safe/secret haven for me.
I love my journal, the pen on paper feel with just me and no outside judgement has always been one of my go to happy places. It's funny how some things in life you practice with discipline, you work hard forcing them to become habit, but journal writing was never that way for me. I was never forced or pressured to write a journal, it was just something I did naturally. The first journal I was given was at age 8 for my baptism and my mom wrote the first entry with me - something just clicked. After that first entry, it was all mine; I could write ANYTHING I wanted in it, and no one could ever have it or see it. I loved it, and that love still continues.
It's funny to feel this love for my journals and yet still have that undecided death decision to perhaps burn them before anyone can open them. "… sometimes I want to light her on fire, but I don't, because I love her…" - name that movie!
I feel like I've proclaimed my love for my journal enough times in this post to adequately let this blog know it's place and give my journal more piece of mind on the subject.
Wait, may be one more:
Heaven's slice is my JOURNAL.