i used to fill whole journals in a month. writing was not a chore or a task but a tool to process… a way of working through the seemingly insignificant and the knowingly significant moments of life. i didn’t know what i was thinking until i took the time to write it out and process it by pen.
but today, my journal remains empty.
wait, i take that back.
it’s full, but not as it used to be.
you see, i divided it into two parts: internal and external
the external contained the tasks of my day, the lists of my projects, the notes from my meetings… all external factors and elements in my external life.
and the internal was to contain my thoughts, my wrestlings, my processings…
however, things didn’t go as planned.
without realizing it had happened, the external pages seized the pages once saved for the internal. the task lists snuck up, page by page, day by day on the space left for processing until their was no room for anything else.
and now i look at my worn through book and wonder how it came to be… and more importantly, how to keep it from happening again.
