The last page of my journal has these three words written on it: the last page. That's it. That's the end to 2.5 years of my thoughts. For some reason, I was unable to write anything else on that page. I felt, by writing a last entry, that I was letting go of those 2.5 years of my life. The last time I wrote in it was July 26th, 2008, and I haven't been able to write anything in it since.
I am so attached to this journal--or "everything book" as I used called it. It's very silly of me, I know. For me, it's a window into who I am as a person, and this is comforting because, I mean, who am I anyway? Does anyone really know they are?
Somehow this little 8x5 in. notebook embodies who I am as a person I think. In it are stuffed pictures I love, letters I cherish, ticket stubs to concerts, funny to-do lists, and word definitions written on notecards. Oh yeah, that's right, and my SOUL.
...Gee whiz, I hope no one ever finds it and reads it until long after I'm dead.
My sister gave it to me, long ago. She said she wasn't ever going to use it, so she tossed it to me while she was cleaning out her clutter one day. At the time, I thought it looked very cliche' since it has this quote by some guy named Neil Martinique on the front about living your dreams and whatnot. After the first fifty times of reading that front cover though, I began to really believe it what it was saying, and it became quite inspiring to me. It really spoke to me when I was down. There sure is some merit to those cliche' sayings.
Since then I've stuck old pictures on it, spilled coffee on it, drawn weird lookin' flowers on it, written lyrics over those pictures, and put random stickers all on this little thing.
I always laugh at those people who have "In case of fire, rescue cat" stickers on their front doors, but I kind of feel the same way about this "everything book" as they do their cat.
-n
And I would like to cry in the car.
The blue violet hills and the voice of Neil Young.
I left the flowers outside your door.
Your curtains were flying,
Though you were not at home.
-The Innocence Mission
