When I was fourteen and fifteen and sixteen, I used to update you when I got a new journal on my blog. I haven’t kept up that tradition, because, well, I’m twenty and I guess things get jumbled around and forgotten when years pass.
So here we go.
Spencer and I went on our regular Barnes & Noble run. I didn’t sit on the floor and read “The Human Body” or “Stupid American History” stories, but I did sit down and read a good 25 pages of The Book Thief and holy crap, what am I missing out on? I didn’t buy it, but I will wait to finish my other two books from the library.
This time, though, I actually bought something. I’ve been in need of a good journal.
I’ll admit, I never finish a journal. In fact, I will feel finished with a journal with half of the journal empty.
But sometimes you just have to leave behind a journal because you’re finished with a subject, a hard time, a crazy time, and you just want to move on.
I’m moving away from my bridezilla crazies. My pink journal is full of, just, crazy things. Like me yelling at Spencer on paper, or me not knowing where we’re going to live, or me worrying about how we’re going to get the darn reception hall I want or “Spencer insists on me pushing the toothpaste from the bottom of the bottle! Why should I waste 30 seconds of my life pushing the toothpaste from the bottom? Why does that matter?”
Off with its head! And onto another journal. It’s black on the outside. Small spiral notebook. Yellow(ish) pages. No lines.
And onto the next part of life.