Yes, I am not dead.

And nothing’s even broken. 🙂

The trip was great, and mostly chronicled in my pink travel journal – I still have a few restaurant experiences to write down before they get too fuzzy.

I’ve also noticed that I’m starting to write in my personal journal again. It’s this beautiful little green book, Chinese, that Corilee got me years ago. I took it with me when I headed down to Huntsville, and I wrote in spurts, and when I returned, I hardly touched it. Now I’ve been starting it back up again, and I’m enjoying it.

In a way, I sort of regret using this place as my outlet for my journaling. Not to say that I haven’t enjoyed writing here, and sharing it with my friends, but there is no permenancy. My physical journals I’ll always have, but there are a 100 odd pages here that could vanish at any time, entries that chronicle very interesting (to me) times at school, and afterwards. There was a point where I had copied all of the then up-to-date entries to print them out, but never had. It would be a monumental effort to print out and then paste or tape into my physical journals, but it’s something that I feel I need to do for me.

As I’m older now, I regret not journaling as a teen. I was too afraid to, and when I tried, I stopped relatively soon after. Granted, when I do read what I did manage to write, it’s laughably silly stuff, but still interesting in a voyeuristic sort of way. The older I get, the farther away those years are to me, and they stop seeming as real or important as now. The journals give these concrete flashes of an existance that’s growing all too fuzzy to me and I wish I had made more of them for me to read down the road.

In other absolutely mundane news, I’ve transplanted my herb garden. So far, the basil and sage are the clear winners, with the former growing straight and strong and the latter showing a lot of life. My cilantro and parsley are as zigzaggy as the Dill, but doing far better. Yet they still sag on the sides, their base too thin to support their top-heavy weight. The marjoram, thyme and oregano still look mostly alike, though are about 2/3s the hight of the basil and dill. The thyme has a hint of purple under the leaves. I still have the two little teeny green peepers of rosemary, my only survivors, in a larger pot and I have great hopes that they will take off at last and I started a brand new pot with the chive seeds. Perhaps they are too old, and that’s why they haven’t germinated? I don’t know. I’m still looking forward to the time where they are all healthy plants that I can snip from for my cooking. Even now, if you lean down and smell the sage or the basil, even the thyme, and you can smell them, green and fresh and wonderful.

Ah, the only benefit of the online journal is that I can type it, and my typing is so much faster than writing by hand. But there is an enjoyable element to writing on paper, in a beautiful little book. Another gift, this one from Kyle a few years ago, is a dusty rose book with a black spine and elastic tie, with a black and white photo of a cat sitting on a book in the center of the cover, is being used for my BESM PbP campaign on Nutkinland. I would always avoid using a pretty book for something like that, but I have to get over my worry about using nice things, as if I will never have them again. Bizarre the habits we pick up, eh?

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4 thoughts on “Yes, I am not dead.

  1. Journals. . .

    I wrote in my “real” journal some while in Austin, and it had been too long and found I missed it – but actually writing things out by hand seems like a trial these days, no immediacy and no pictures. . . no colorful extras w/o lots of efforts.

    I have kept a journal on and off (mostly on) since my freshman year of college – so that’s going on 15 years.

    Mostly when I read back I find them depressing, ridiculous and embarassing – but sometimes I find gems.

  2. Me too!

    I actually started seriously journaling when I was still writing, and I was working through The Artist’s Way, which requires daily journaling to de-angst and de-negative yourself and your various ‘blocks’ to creative work, sometime in my early 20s. So I have a series of huge 8.5 x 11 journals that I started with. Some plain old science note books, others shiny black business ones, and the actual official Artist’s Way book. And now my teeny ones, like the green book, or the pink travel journal that I bought at the Ontario Art Museum.

    And there are gems, when I talk about my break up and finding Todd, going to school (for the online stuff), my thoughts during my cancer. You know I actually have a psuedo-will written in one? 🙂 Morbid but interesting to me, anyways.

    1. I have psuedo-will written in one as well. . . so funny, and not. . .

      Part of which requests that no part of my journals ever be published until after the death of my mother and older sister. . . When I was younger I sometimes said mean stuff – b/c I was young and self-centered – but I would not want to be censored, nor would I want to hurt their feelings – I figure that would be a good compromise.

  3. Anonymous

    Good to hear

    I was glad to see that you did not break anything 🙂 I was also glad to read that you have gotten back into writing in your journals. You took much pleasure from it and it does help clarify your thoughts. Go to have you back. Corr

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