This week I've had sort of a mini vacation which turned mostly into catching up on things I haven't been doing, i.e. cleaning/weeding, plus catching up with friends and cheering up the dearest friend. Today I cleaned like a madwoman in the morning so that I could take a few hours to drive up to Lake Geneva in the afternoon. I soaked up some sun, read, napped like a kitten in the warmth, wrote a letter, perused shop windows...a few hours later I felt nearly brand new.
I start far too many books at one time. I've lost count of how many I'm reading presently.
I've been without my journal all week and have since felt the strongest urge to journal. Never mind that I have been slacking quite a bit on journaling, if I know I can't do something I really want to do it.
It's a destructive habit.
Also, it's just extremely disconcerting to be without my journal. Sometimes I write things and think "If this got published, I would probably be famous."
But, most times it's rubbish, embarrassing rubbish at that.
I always comment anonymously on other blogs, but when people comment anonymously here I get so inquisitive. Backwards, I know. Serves me right for trying to be mysterious/too afraid.
It's been a good while. Sometimes if I feel especially vulnerable I won't write because I feel like I'll betray something. I don't even write in my journal.
This is bad because then periods of vulnerability go undocumented. I might glean something if I learned to write honestly and carefully during those times.
I should also install a recording device in my car, because I frequently talk things out there as I drive, which I think might be humorous in about 20 years.
Last thing: Tonight I took vanilla ice cream and put on dark chocolate shavings and pecans. For some reason I felt like a total genius. It was delicious, by the way.
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