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…. take my 40 years of journals, I say!

Pray tell, Lisa, what prompted this odd declaration that makes no sense to anyone?

My good pal Lindsay over at The Daily Awe wrote a post today talking about making room (for her wee baby-on-the-way) and that involved giving away lots of books.

And I’m down with that, you know?

I donate tons of books to the Queen Anne’s Hospice store. They now have quite the metaphysical library there courtesy of this mystical chick.

We’re all good with that.

What brought about this declaration was Lindsay’s comments that she’s thinking of burning all her journals as well.

Should I tell you that I was in the bathroom stall at work reading that post on my phone? (No? Well, ignore that part then.)

And I was all “Oh Hell NO! I will not give up my journals! You can’t make me and I won’t!”

(Thankfully, there was no one else in the bathroom at the time or I might be writing this to you from the comfort (?) of the local mental health facility.)

I’ve kept diaries / journals since I was ten. And yes, I have them all.

It’s quite a humbling experience to go back and re-read some of them.

There’s a theme that emerges, though.

Weight and boyfriends: Too much of one, not enough of the other

Maybe that’s all I need to remember: The Life and Times of Lisa: too much chubs, not enough mens

Actually, as I commented on Lindsay’s post, I learn best by going through it myself and figuring out the pieces. I’ve always been a writer of some sort and journaling is as natural to me as breathing. (Hence why I am still going on the Ultimate Blog Challenge even though it’s officially over!)

When I think about releasing them, it makes me feel sad, uneasy and scared, honestly. Of what? I have no idea.

I don’t really want anyone to read those pages and pages and pages of whining and crying and stuff, do I? What kind of picture of me would they get? I am more than the sum of my parts words, right?

No one is forcing me to let them go but just the idea of it made me sad. What’s held in those journals that isn’t inside me somewhere?

Questions for another day.

Ponder, Ponder.