Confession from a journal

I spent this afternoon reading through my journal. Wow, I forget to inject and misspell a lot of words. My journal makes me laugh and brood over my own thoughts. Every page I shake my head and giggle that I actually wrote those sentences down. The occasional page I find a passage that I am quite found of. I find writing in the journal to be more of a release from suitable thoughts. I rant to myself about health, emotions, photography projects, art, self-proclaimed philosophies and squandering time away.

Keeping a journal makes me feel good, a boast to my ego for keeping a practice. Observance of my surroundings is also a main topic for self-discussion in the journal. I find myself making fun of people that I wound not normally discuss with someone in conversation. (i.e.) if you see me writing next to you in a coffee shop or in a doctor’s office waiting room I am probably making fun of you.

Last thing, for the past couple of weeks I have been writing with a pen (actually THE PEN of all time) the Pilot Precise V5RT…its awe-inspiring super sharp fine point rolling ball tip. That pen and a moleskin journal and you will feel like Bach or Picasso, at least I do.

John Craig

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Comments

[Sophie Brown]

I'm coming around to the idea that my diaries are much more interesting to me than to others.

I think if there is a God, he would keep his eyes to himself and approve of the practice of being a bitch on paper. No matter how bad you are in print, it keeps me much more personable and sane and kind in life.