journal more often

I have several journals. I tend to write in one for a while, then pick up another and write in it. This goal for me involves writing in one journal in chronological order so that I can look back and see the progress made in life.
Consistency will be the key. And being willing to let my thoughts make it to paper again.

Lately I’ve been able to put aside the time to journal the way I used to! I’ve missed it so much. The way I achieved this was to leave my journal under the coffee table instead of in my bedside table. Usually, when I head off to bed I’m too tired to write, as opposed to when I was growing up and had to go to bed long before I was tired. Back then I needed something I could do to occupy myself without waking my parents (their room was right below mine and unfortunately I was a night owl!) Now when my insomniac self is chilling in the living room while the boy snores away in the bedroom, I have my journal next to me to write out all my thoughts. All it took was changing where I stashed my journal. I just had to schedule time for writing. I’m really glad I did this. I just haven’t been myself for a while now and I think it’s because writing is my therapy. I feel more centered now.

I was very busy last months, so I hadn’t write on my journal from a long time. I know I missed something. I am complicated and I tend to mess up things so I need to write down what I feel and what I did. It helps me to clarify and focus on myself.
Then, it’s funny to read past thoughts and actions.

I had just returned Monday mid-morning by jet and by jet, first one from the Quad Cities on the Mississippi to Atlanta, then after a long long ninety minutes another to Savannah. I left a womyn who loves me, who loves me still as I re-write this from memory, even after losing the copy which I was about to paste as the computer suddenly restarted without warning. But I have it in my own organic cache, so here it is—

So I had been away from this home away from home away from home, this little house my soon to be ex-wife and I bought from a wealthy descendant of Huguenot farmers settling in the coastal lowlands of this former penal colony, this great state of Georgia. And I had been away, far to the north, in the frozen ice-bound snowy northern Illinois fields and woods, lakes and rivers, suburbia of Chicago. I have found my childhood sweetheart. You think you are confused, dear reader? Well, I have been too. But no longer.
I hope that this journal will not only clarify and record for me and mine our history, but will unfold for you my melodrama and romance of recent past. Where are we headed with this? Ah, but here we touch on one purpose of a journal. “Journal,” derived from the French word “jour” meaning “day,” reveals to us that this is a writing of our day by day happenings, re-tellings, hopes and aspirations.