I have a box in my parent’s basement (aka my storage unit) that is brimming with partially-filled journals. Year after year, confident that having a pretty notebook (hardcover with lines) and nice pens (fine tip, of course) would encourage me to masterfully pour my pensiveness upon paper, I’d indulge in these pricey stationary items. And my writing fervor would commence. For about a week. Well, maybe three days. Or one. Then, a few months would pass, and I’d begin another entry like this, “so sorry I haven’t written for so long! [to whom was I apologizing?]. Just too much has happened for me to write everything down, so I’ll just start with today [usually “today” was ridden with some sort of self-inflicted drama].” And after about a year of these sporadic rants, I’d see another over-priced journal at Barnes and Noble and just have to have it, for surely this time I’d be a regular Doogie Howser [you know, because he journaled a lot. Not because I’m a genius; quite the contrary].
Not so. And the cycle continued…until I was about 28 and resigned myself to my lack of follow-through.
And apparently blogging is the new journaling for me. Not because my previous attempt resulted in adolescent angst-ridden ramblings [my husband is the recipient of those now], but rather because I started with such great intentions and then they fizzled as quickly as the Paul Reiser Show [did anyone see that a couple years ago? It was actually pretty good. But my TV standards are pretty low, after all I am *still* regularly watching post-Steve Carell The Office. And I’m seriously considering beginning one of those Hulu original series.]
I thought tumblr would be a good option for me, because one doesn’t really have to write anything; a blogger can just re-tumble [is that the right word?] images, songs, etc. I thought it would be perfect for someone like me, who has the attention span of a four-year-old. And I had ideas. Oh, did I have ideas- music recommendations, recipes, meal plans, pictures, deep discourses on current theological and political issues, pop culture finds. Aaaaand, as you can surmise from evidence here, it was reduced to meal plans. Yes, sporadically-written meal plans, prefaced by my apologizing for not
journaling blogging more.
And so, I am picking up my fine-point pen and new hard-covered, lined notebook, so to speak, in hopes that it will encourage me to write more. No one may ever read this, and that is okay. “I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, dear void.” [25 points to the brilliant person who can name that movie. It will definitely be a teen-age boy, because they’re really into movies like this. And blogs like mine.]