I used to keep a diary. Well to be more specific...until recently I have kept a diary since I was seven years old. It started when we had to journal daily at school. Then I discovered the beautiful journals they had at bookstores and in the paper craft aisle's at stores. I would write down everything, desperate to fill up my journal and buy the next beautiful new book to fill with my secrets and angst. (I was a dramatic kid.) I keep them at my mother's house. (I tell her EVERYTHING anyway...so she won't find out anything crazy if she reads them, but boy does that woman believe in and guard privacy.) My life from seven to now fits onto an entire bookshelf.
My latest journal I've had for a long time. Too long. I should have bought a pretty new empty book by now. I haven't written anything in it since September or October...before that it was March. I can't. Right now I've been writing the same exact entries for 3 years. I'm tired f writing them. I'm tired of reading them. Until something changes and I fix this mess, I can't bring myself to write down what I know in my head. That I'm still here wallowing in this broken mess.
I know I'm being vague, intentionally so. You never know who is reading :-P I don't even know if I'll ever push the publish button on this post. I'm just venting. Maybe a new medium will help me feel better about this stagnation (is that a word?)