Dear Diary. . .

Do any of you have tons of empty journals kicking around? I do. Partly because I don't want to ruin them.

That might sound rather silly, but I bet some of you out there can relate. It's funny being picky about a journal, especially its appearance. I mean, presumably, you're the only person who's going to see it, right? 

Personally, I am very much concerned with aesthetics, and I find that I like to reserve certain journals and notepads for specific things. I carry around my smaller junky ones on the regular, to jot things down as they occur to me--the things I see and hear, random thoughts. I tend to keep my nicer journals at home and use them, if I use them at all, for nightly musings, poetry, and more insightful thoughts. While flipping through some of these "nicer" journals, one thing seems consistent. . .they all begin with neat printing and coherent thoughts, then end with scribblings about trivial things that annoy me--people, places, sports--and destructive self-talk. 

Recently, I came across a journal that I intended on using (somewhat) as a collection of positive thoughts and goals. It started out as such, but ended up being a collection of rants and complaints. A log of emotional trauma. It made me laugh, actually. The effort is there, but it's so incredibly difficult to stay on the straight and narrow when it comes to positivity. This always happens with me--something beginning as one thing, then turning out to be another.

I have a few journals that I doubt I'll ever write in because they seem too good for me. I cannot imagine ever writing something good enough for them. I got them because I figured they would inspire me to write something amazing, but now they just sit on a shelf, with their noses turned up at me. Maybe I'll turn them into books of useless scribblings so they can join the community with my other journals.

I'm thinking of periodically sharing journal entries as blog posts. They would be terrible, but probably funny to read. I'm gonna do it. Maybe. Probably.

Consider yourselves warned. . .