I am thinking about journals today.

Not in an abstract way.  More in an “I’ve been unpacking these boxes for over a month how can there still be so many books and journals on the floor” kind of way.

We moved into a new house recently (I say recently to make myself feel better about the entire ROOM FULL OF CRAP that I can’t even bring myself to look at) and unpacking and organizing the office-area has been the hardest part.

For me.  I guess for one of us, the one who does things like lug furniture and put in floors, the whole book-placement-issue hasn’t really been all that much of a challenge.

But for the other one of us, the one who NEEDS TO KNOW WHERE THAT JOURNAL WITH THE POSTCARD ON IT FROM THE EIGHTH GRADE FIELD TRIP TO WASHINGTON D.C. is, it’s kind of a big deal.

As a result, there are journals everywhere.  So I’ve been looking at them.  Which is embarrassing, in a way that’s kind of nice.  And also just embarrassing.   How many times can I possibly have the same exact feeling and write it down, as if it’s breaking news?

Also embarrassing, from an eco-awareness perspective, is the fact that I think maybe two of these journals have been fully used.  I often get sidetracked by a pretty new one with a shiny cover, and I usually keep at least three going at once.  I will pretend that one is for writing ideas, one is for personal musings, and one is for practical lists and planning.  But they are in every way intertwined, which is confusing and fluid in a way that constantly makes me anxious.

But I’ve stopped fighting it.  Because at last, after years of boxing them up and moving them around from house to car to apartment to car to house, I now have a place to pile them up around me.  I know I should put them away.  Someday I will. But for now, I want to see them.

From the outside, at least.


For the personal:  Jill Bliss

For the practical: Moleskine Squared

For the writing: Moleskine Volant