Last night when I wrote in my journal, was also the first time I've done that in a long time. I looked. I had written about four times in the past 14 or so months. That's awful. The worst I've done since when I didn't have a journal. It felt good to handwrite things again, even though it's awful stressful on the fingers and you sure can't keep up with your thoughts. But they seem to become clearer with handwriting, if I can just force myself to use a pen instead of this keyboard.
After reading that book, and going back to my younger years, and journaling, I was able to just sit and think. It was about 2 in the morning. I haven't done that in a while either. I loved it very much. There was something real about it. So if that last entry seemed like a low, this was the high. Go figure.
I'm sure the thoughts and feelings I had last night will fade soon enough. They will become lost in the mess of tomorrow and in the stress and monotony of work. And in the base animal characteristics of mine like hunger and needing to go to the bathroom and sleep. But I wrote them down. And I came up with three reasons that I want to live. Which isn't as morbid as it sounds. And for last night, at least, I was stoked about it. And it even spilled over into today. Which also hasn't happened in a long time.
die alive. love my own. change the world.
