My first journal was a spiral-bound notebook. A Mead 5-subject before they had plastic covers. I signed every entry with the name "Dino," because it sounded way cooler than my real name. I tracked extremely newsworthy things. Spelling test scores. How far I rode my bike. My brother falling in the creek. All scribbled so poorly, I even today am embarrassed by 8-year-old me. Then I remind myself, my handwriting was WAY better than the self-given nickname.
Then Megan's sleepover birthday party. She gave Dinky Diaries in lieu of goodie bags. A far more superior "thanks for coming" than gummy bracelets, smarties & scrunchies. In my true anal fashion, I didn't sleep that night because I had birthdays to log in my brand new calendar and phone numbers to get to load up my address book. It even had stickers, and we know, stickers are the way to a child's heart. My last entry in the Dinky Diary was 1989, when I wrote "Saw Grandpa in the casket." I think I retired Dinky for a basketball.
The teenage years I didn't journal. I was too busy and cool for my own words and thoughts. And. My teenage experiences are much safer in my head than ANYWHERE where they could be found.
Freshman/Sophomore year of college. Orange hardcover book that so secretly disguised itself with the word JOURNAL printed in CAPS on the front. No one should keep this kind of journal in college amongst communal living. That just begs for trouble. But I did, or at least I tried, and this was my "pour your thoughts & feelings" phase. After turning 21, I was too busy barhopping and too tired to outline the days events in writing.
The supposed-adult calendar journal. After college, I didn't have thoughts to put on paper for Future Me. I had events to track. I bought a Month-At-A-Glance planner, and used the little boxes for each day to track the daily events. Not thoughts, feelings, or otherwise. It was matter-of-fact. 8-year-old-esque, if you will. Like really? I tracked life for about two years, my longest run in the 'journaling' department. Then like all its ancestors, began collecting dust and was moved to the past journal attempts box.
The journal started out of life struggle. This was my most recent journal attempt. I bought an expensive leatherbound conspicuously embossed JOURNAL. A journal for the serious journalers. One that you can almost hear shouting from its hiding place "I'm filled with juicy. Come read me." I wrote in it for ten straight days. Then once a week. Then two months later. Then scribed my last entry discussing how I am unable to keep a written journal - I am wordy - I have too much to say, and often my hand cramps before my thought has even developed.
This Blog. It took 28 months to find myself back yet again at the journaling crossroads. I figure this. I don't need to keep my daily rants&rambles in a book. I prefer typing. I love inserting pictures where words don't do justice. I prefer being able to access this blog from anywhere. AND, since I always have more to add (this entry has been posted already twice, then taken down to tweak) this blog affords me all the space I need, without having to make notes ****See page 13 for the 1st paragraph of this entry, and page 21 for part 2. No. I can click edit, and put my thoughts where I want them, and you'll never know.
From this:
To This:
I had no where to log movement.
I often forget about new song finds.
I'm not currently journaling nor sharing anything on my mind, but want to.
I wanted to start a GoodDeeds&Gratitude Journal, but had decided there were still other things I wanted to say.
My art was hidden in a folder on my hard drive.
My favorite websites jotted on post-its.
This blog, is my one stop shop.
This ain't the 80's no more.
Then Megan's sleepover birthday party. She gave Dinky Diaries in lieu of goodie bags. A far more superior "thanks for coming" than gummy bracelets, smarties & scrunchies. In my true anal fashion, I didn't sleep that night because I had birthdays to log in my brand new calendar and phone numbers to get to load up my address book. It even had stickers, and we know, stickers are the way to a child's heart. My last entry in the Dinky Diary was 1989, when I wrote "Saw Grandpa in the casket." I think I retired Dinky for a basketball.
The teenage years I didn't journal. I was too busy and cool for my own words and thoughts. And. My teenage experiences are much safer in my head than ANYWHERE where they could be found.
Freshman/Sophomore year of college. Orange hardcover book that so secretly disguised itself with the word JOURNAL printed in CAPS on the front. No one should keep this kind of journal in college amongst communal living. That just begs for trouble. But I did, or at least I tried, and this was my "pour your thoughts & feelings" phase. After turning 21, I was too busy barhopping and too tired to outline the days events in writing.
The supposed-adult calendar journal. After college, I didn't have thoughts to put on paper for Future Me. I had events to track. I bought a Month-At-A-Glance planner, and used the little boxes for each day to track the daily events. Not thoughts, feelings, or otherwise. It was matter-of-fact. 8-year-old-esque, if you will. Like really? I tracked life for about two years, my longest run in the 'journaling' department. Then like all its ancestors, began collecting dust and was moved to the past journal attempts box.
The journal started out of life struggle. This was my most recent journal attempt. I bought an expensive leatherbound conspicuously embossed JOURNAL. A journal for the serious journalers. One that you can almost hear shouting from its hiding place "I'm filled with juicy. Come read me." I wrote in it for ten straight days. Then once a week. Then two months later. Then scribed my last entry discussing how I am unable to keep a written journal - I am wordy - I have too much to say, and often my hand cramps before my thought has even developed.
This Blog. It took 28 months to find myself back yet again at the journaling crossroads. I figure this. I don't need to keep my daily rants&rambles in a book. I prefer typing. I love inserting pictures where words don't do justice. I prefer being able to access this blog from anywhere. AND, since I always have more to add (this entry has been posted already twice, then taken down to tweak) this blog affords me all the space I need, without having to make notes ****See page 13 for the 1st paragraph of this entry, and page 21 for part 2. No. I can click edit, and put my thoughts where I want them, and you'll never know.
From this:
I often forget about new song finds.
I'm not currently journaling nor sharing anything on my mind, but want to.
I wanted to start a GoodDeeds&Gratitude Journal, but had decided there were still other things I wanted to say.
My art was hidden in a folder on my hard drive.
My favorite websites jotted on post-its.
This blog, is my one stop shop.
This ain't the 80's no more.
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| mjg |
