Journaling

I came to journaling late in life. I tried writing in a diary in high school. I had received a a diary at Christmas time. The first entry was really good, "I went to dance last night and had a terrific time. I danced most every dance". After that nothing happened to me that I felt significant enough to write about. Of course, even if I had a boy ask me out, my socially restrictive father would not have allowed it. Only if I got five A's on my report card and then only five times and not with the same boy. So, with that choice, I said "Screw you" and cut off my nose. Eventually my nose grew back.

In the years of taking care of my father in his illness, I really needed a shrink but had neither time nor money. I turned to journaling. It was a life saver. "I had to take a 1/2 a Valium to get through the day. He was a really asshole last night at dinner". It really helped a huge amount to journal my feelings.

I started out with binder paper and a binder. I hated using those lovely journal books that I was given. I have one in Irish green leather, one in Indian silk (the kind of silk with slubs in it) and one with family photos all over it. But to put my catalog of complaints in these book seems outrageous.

Along the way I came up with an aesthetic solution that eases my soul as well as my need for economy. I now use notebooks but I made a terrific cover that the current journal fits into. I used bookbinding material and covered the back with glue, placing card board slightly larger than the notebooks. folded everthing inside leaving room for insertion of the notebook. I tucked a ribbon marker in the top to hold my place and now it makes me happy.