The Death of a Journal

In my sophomore year of university, I bought a journal. It cost nearly 4 dollars; so, I was pretty intent on using it. Unfortunately, I rarely did. Moreover, when I did I usually ended disappointed with my crappy handwriting and would just tear the pieces of paper out. I tended to write thoughts, feelings, letters to people who would never see them, and the occasional crappy poem. Eventually, I had the genius idea of writing this stuff in my notebooks, and transferring them to the journal when when my writing improved. Alas, that never (or rather has yet to have) happened. Those things are all lost and probably only a few will be found. It's partly relieving though sinceI won't have to see that stuff again, and part sad.

As for the journal, well it ended up being a multi-purpose notebook. It lasted my Pers401 class and served as a good place for my lab notes. I felt like writing something today and I realized that there's only a few pages left. I thought about just getting a new one, but if the first one was rarely used, what's the point of wasting more money. (And my writing still sucks.)

"Don't bother reading me, you won't understand =("

I've decided to just start writing stuff down. A friend encouraged the idea, stating that it helps to sort things out and also just to get things "out there." I've decided I'll give this first journal a proper "burial" and at last let it fulfill its original purpose. Forget how bad or crappy my writing is; at the end of the day, it's mine. Possessions are important, even immaterial ones like this.