Dear Diary

Whenever I think of these words the mental image that comes to mind is always a beautiful young woman sitting at a desk (the desk has a beautiful cherrywood finish) writing in a beautiful little book (the book is pink with the words 'My Diary' written across the front and she has a silky black ribbon to tie it). She's wearing lovely silver jewelry on her wrists and fingers as she lovingly writes all her secrets down in with a long graceful silver pen. She has perfect penmanship and a little cannester of stickers to grace different pages so that each page is a creation all on it's own.

Yep - that's what I think of. I was looking for an image that properly described my mental image, but nothing came to mind. But I love pens, so I decided to go for broke on that illustration instead.

I have been an avid journal writer since I was 13. I didn't sit down and write once a day or once a week, but I wrote in my journal when something interesting happened to me, or I needed to vent. Going through my journals when I was a teenager is a hoot, but I never came close to achieving my mental image of what I thought perfect journal writing is. Oh, did I mention that the girl's hair is perfectly straight and it probably takes her 20 minutes to straighten it before she can sit down to write in her journal? Probably not. Anyway - even thought that was my dream - it's too late. I'm not a teenager anymore and even when I was - that was NOT me. This was me:

No desk - I was lying on my bed. At least it was made. For the most part, my diary was a notebook you can buy in University Book stores because that's what my dad had to give me when I wanted to write. At least it didn't have a coil and was bound properly, but believe you me - it was perfectly plain. No ribbon around it - and the jewerly I used to wear as a teenager used to bother even me - so unstylish. I mostly just wore a wristwatch that I hated. I wore it because I'm the compulsive type that can't stand to not know what time it is. As for the pen - it was bic ballpoint. When I was a teenager and had complete control over my room, I could randomly reach my hand out and fumble around for a second and find a pen. Seriously - I had them between my mattress and the boxspring, on the floor, on my bedside tables, on the dresser, in my armchair, on the shelves, in my clothes, holding up my hair - everywhere. That's how bad I had the writing bug. And my hands weren't beautiful - bic ball point pens smear and I'd get pen marks all over my hands - I was a mess. As for my penmanship - it's more like my dad's than my mom's, if that says anything. I've worked very hard to make it pretty, and have finally got it to a point where I could write someone a memo at work without feeling ashamed. As for the cannister full of stickers - I started using stickers instead of whiteout once I became an adult - weird eh? I keep them in the blue foot (sometime I'll have to write an entire post dedicated to the weirdest object I or anyone else has EVER owned).

And lastly - I don't have any secrets anymore. I keep a journal, but I don't have any secret thoughts that have to be kept hidden anymore. However, my teenage self has some secrets that probably shouldn't be let out of the bag. So, here's the important question:

Would you want someone to read your journal?

I think about this all the time and whether or not I would want someone to find it and read it. Would it be a good reflection of me and the kind of person I am? I'm sure it would be okay for someone to read it after I'm dead or even after life doesn't matter anymore, but I don't think it would teach them about me at all. I said that I only write in my journal when something happens or I needed to rant. What about all the quiet moments when I rest, and do small things that really make a difference? I don't write about them - they aren't interesting to me.

In my religion it's very important for you to write your personal history - everyone does it - writers and non-writers alike. I think about how I would write about my life. Would I just write the important events, or would I write about the internal growth that changed me and made me the person I am? Of course internal growth is private - or at least, it feels private. To expose the truth about why I did something a certain way is obviously embarrassing, but at the same time - your story is supposed to help guide your children and your grandchildren through life. If you don't tell them how you really grew up in your heart and in your head - will they even feel like they know you?

So, if it helped them - would you expose yourself to public scrutiny?

That's my difficult question.

On a different topic - my dear friend Nightfaux has gotten herself a blog. There's a link to it on the sidebar as well as one for algelic and Jomiel. Just as a side note, I want to tell everyone that I named her. She asked me to help her come up with a screen name, and that's the one I picked. I love her - she's my darling.