I am a Paper Journal Failure

I swear I have tried, many times. I've owned at least four different journals. I've gone from cheap black n' white marbled composition books to custom leather cover Oberon journals with a replaceable insert. I just can't seem to get behind writing in the little bastards. I don't know what it is. When I write other things, poetry or lyrics or whatever, I actually prefer notebooks to typing, but something about the process of "journaling" or writing a diary or blog just screams KEYS to me. I wonder if it is something in my brain, like the difference between creative writing versus writing about events and thought processes that are not completely invented. My blog and journal entries are creative (at least as far as I am capable of rendering them) to be sure, but they are never purely conjured the way that my other writing is.

I am a bit disappointed in myself with this realization, or rather, with accepting this fact. Just before I left for Alaska I bought a new insert for my fancy leather journal. Also, my folks went out and got me this very cool little black journal with a magnetic latched cover. They both sit, undisturbed, in a box next to my couch. Once I set this blog in motion, I kind of accepted that I would be spending less time writing things in little books, but I did not anticipate abandoning them entirely. The most frightening prospect now, the little spot in the distance that seems to grow as it gets closer, is how I think this space will come to evolve in the near future into my one and only outlet for the stinky mental, emotional, and psychological detritus that I occasionally need to purge from the recesses of my mind.

My entries, to this point, have revealed a little bit of my thought process and next to nothing of the dark corners of my mind. But living as I am, with no one in particular to be the sounding board for all of my less happy-happy joy-joy thinking, I fear that sooner or later I will just take the plunge and let the words fly here. My fear of this happening is two-fold. First, it will take a fair bit of patience on the part of the reader to deal with all of my tedious ramblings, and second I may well reveal things about my feelings towards others and the lives they lead that are better left un-spoken. I would never do this in a callous or thoughtless manner, but it might still lead to hurt feelings or misunderstandings. After all, if I say someone is a pain in my ass and twelve people all assume I'm talking about them because I'm not going to use names, well, that can only lead to trouble. A third potential problem, but one I'm not even really worried about, is the impact of my opinions on anything else. If I come on here and say something that offends someone's delicate sensibilities, well then they should just stop reading. But the audience here is practically guaranteed to only be people who know me personally, and I don't ever want to have a discussion where I'm explaining myself in person about something I wrote on here four months ago. It's tiresome and just plain stupid.

I suppose the point of this is really a roundabout disclaimer. As much as I just wanted to only write about traveling and the experiences of what some might have considered a working vacation, the reality of having two jobs, not a lot of money, and about 1/100th of the social circle I enjoyed at home has led to far more introspection than even I was prepared for. I just want to warn everyone that this blog isn't gonna be all rainbows and puppy dogs. And I'll just get this out of the way for the record:

The weather in Alaska fucking SUCKS this year.

"how can I make this clear?

it seems so simple yet

I could spend my whole life 

saying things that make no sense"

~ Dag Nasty