The Journey of a Journal

I am all kinds of proud of myself right now.

I have kept up this blog with more consistency than I have ever kept a handwritten journal.  If you search through all of my belongings, both here in New York and in my house in Boston [mostly the cellar], you will find at least a dozen random journals that were started and forgotten about  after a short period of time.  I would get this great idea to keep a journal, and keep it up for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, before it was completely abandoned.

In my defense, I did have a LiveJournal from the time I was approximately thirteen until I graduated high school, but I never really did any ruminating there.  Reading back through it is tiresome, because it’s mostly an hour-by-hour account of my day, with little extra detail.  Any entries about my thoughts or feelings are generally vague and painfully dramatic and now, years later, I have little to no idea what specific incident I was referring to.

Something blown out of proportion by my ever-present state of unhappiness, I’m sure.

I was cleaning my room yesterday and I found a little black moleskin that I bought a few years ago while I was at the MoMA for a homework assignment.  It’s just the cutest little book you’ve ever seen and it has “MoMA” discreetly indented into the cover.  I had spent the day in a state of pensiveness and it caught my eye in the gift shop on the way out of the museum.  When I sat on the train and filled my name in on the first page, I felt like a writer.

Shut up, I know it sounds silly that a notebook can make you feel anything at all. But it did.

The first page of this journal says simply,

A Collection of Random and Private Thoughts and Ideas.

Valerie A. *Last Name*

11/9/07

Over three years ago.  I stopped to think about how much I had changed over the course of three years, and looked down and couldn’t help but smile to myself.

Even my signature has changed since then.

I wrote in it about once or twice a month until March 2008. Then it must have gotten packed away late April, not to resurface again until December 2009.  The first sentence describes my annoyance at this absence.  I feel as though I must have hunted it down to write in it, because it was right around the time I had started coming out to people.  It was the first time I came out to a journal. I know that sounds weird, but when I write in a physical journal, as opposed to when I write in an online journal,  I write to is as if it is a single person, a friend who knows my secrets and thoughts.  I grew rather attached to this journal in particular, and started out in the first half referring to it as “this notebook” or “this journal” but eventually, after writing with decent regularity from December 2009 until May 2010, I started writing directly to my journal.  As in, saying things like “Sorry about the break, school ended and I kept forgetting to transfer you into my smaller purse. I thought about you, I promise.” Though I do end that entry with a post script that reads, “Yes, I’m aware that the level of personification I’ve given this journal is alarming.”

My journal continued fairly regularly until July 2010, when I wrote from London. Coming back and moving in a month’s time caused my journal to be lost in the shuffle.  I had kept making mental notes to myself to find my journal – in fact I think I even emailed myself about it once – but since I have the short term memory of a [certain] regal tang, it was missing until this weekend.  I would say it’s about 3/4 of the way filled, and I hope to eventually fill it. Going back and reading the entries brings back so many emotions.  Annoyance. Amusement. Nostalgia.

Usually, when I re-read anything I’ve written, I want to reach back in time and slap myself in the face.  I usually just hate it, and I can’t really explain why.  This journal [and this blog for that matter] seems to reflect more of what I like about myself, thoughts and musings that seem logical and sane.  Unlike when I go back to read my LiveJournal.  Though there are things that I predicted or hoped for that I now know I was way off about, it doesn’t make me angry to read them.  I often smile at my blind optimism.  I hope I never lose it, no matter how many times I end up being wrong.

Maybe once and a while I will share more quotes and snippets from this written journal. Some entries I was drunk while I wrote them so I may include photos of those pages, because they are highly entertaining.  Writing drunk and on the subway breeds quite interesting handwriting.

Anyway, finding my journal was just one of my accomplishments in this four-day-old year.

So far in 2011 (in no particular order), I have been cured of my mysterious and seemingly everlasting illness, found my long lost journal, ate at Big Daddy’s, watched almost two entire seasons of Degrassi, kind of cleaned my room, watched the entire first season of Pretty Little Liars, and spent 48 entire hours without leaving my apartment or spending any money.

So far, so good.

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~ by Valerie Anne on 01/04/2011.

2 Responses to “The Journey of a Journal”

  1. Ahh i am watching the new pretty little liars right now! SUCH as guilty pleasure…and your parents are WAYYYY more awesome then Emily’s 😉

    • WAY more awesome. Though I would have loved to be a fly on the wall [err girl on the stairs?] during my parents first conversation after I told them. Just because I’m curious.
      But I know they definitely didn’t say anything along the lines of “How are we going to fix this.”
      Poor Emily.
      Such a good start to the season though – should be a good one!!

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