Last summer as I finally began to realize just how much and how quickly my life was going to be changing over the course of the coming months, I felt this desire to record everything I thought and wanted to say in a journal of sorts. It was a noble attempt, I thought, but ultimately I stopped keeping up with it. I still have it and keep it with me most of the time, not wanting to be parted from my mode of expression just in case the catalyst that gets me writing again actually presents itself to me. I probably will still write in it from time to time, but it will never be the continual record of my life that I meant it to be.
Instead, now, I have this blog. It's less elegant than I think a physical journal is, but it has a charm and an appeal all its own. I've always struggled with my handwriting. My dad criticizes it seemingly every chance he gets and I could hardly begin to say how many times I've gotten a test back with a red-penned pleading of "Please write bigger!" So, writing in this tiny journal with my sloppy left-hand handwriting is not always a simple task. Moreover, it almost takes me longer to read my entries than it did to write them in the first play. Trebuchet, on the other hand, is much more reliable, I think.
I don't have the same aspirations for this blog as I did for my little black Moleskine, but maybe that's enough to keep me writing.
