July 17, 2012
….Had you guys fooled for a second hee hee. I haven’t owned a journal (even as a kid I refused to call it a diary) for about a year now. On my birthday–next Saturday!!!!–my gift to myself will be a notebook used for only journal writing. I miss jotting down my personal thoughts on paper; it helps me feel better. I keep so much bottled up that I need a release sometimes.
It’s funny because whenever people see me writing in my notebook (a black, hardcover Moleskine–the fancy kind you find in bookstores) they assume its a journal. First of all, I’m not brave to carry something personal with me. I can see now, someone snatching it out of my hands and reading it aloud to embarrass me. Or sneaking a peek when I leave the room for a minute. Oh no buddy, only my eyes see those pages hee hee.
I’m a firm believer that all writers should carry a book of observations with them to record random people, dialogue, situations they come across. So I guess in a way, it could be viewed as a non-personal journal. When I teach creative writing, I give my students the option of looking through my book to get the idea what I’m talking about. I discuss book of observations the first day of class. I’d be embarrassed if they judged me on my thoughts–definitely couldn’t call myself a private person then.
Here’s some gems I’ve written recently:
- The tree in the office died only about two months after receiving it. The new girl joked that the tree saw how dreary The Journal was and decided to commit suicide instead of stay there.
- Lisa, my co-worker, left for the week to visit her sister in Pennsylvania. She had applied for a job; well when the man called, the answering machine said (in a hillbilly voice–her other sister’s idea of a practical joke), “Thanks for calling. We can’t come to the phone right now because we out watching our pa shoot some possums under the porch. We hungry.” Let’s just say, the guy wouldn’t return Lisa’s phone calls.
- Ever since I’ve researched bird myths, I’ve scared myself shitless. I was waiting in the morning at Food Lion for the bus. A white bird flew into the parking lot (maybe a pigeon? It was white all over with gray at the end of its wings, medium-height). It turned its body to look at me then walked in my direction. Stopped, looked off to the left, then walked towards me again. Stopped, looked off to the left, then made its way towards me. I started freaking out! I thought I was marked for death! Anyway, the bird eventually stopped a few feet from me then flew away. I swear that when it was in the sky, it looked like it vanished into thin air. It looked magical like a scene from those fantasy blockbusters.
As you can probably tell, humor tends to grab my attention. Anyway, I can’t wait to go to the bookstore. Something’s been bothering me for awhile now (the whole inner-struggle between being a solitary and sensitive person) that I’d like to get off my chest.
For all the writers out there, has there ever been something you witnessed that you wished you had a notebook to record it in? That by the time you got home, you forget the major details?