Write it down.
Write it all down.
That's what I do, it's what I've always done. And I'm so glad, because every time I stumble upon something I wrote, it brings me back. All of a sudden, life-exactly as it was-is within my grasp. Because, the truth of the matter is that if you can bring your self back into the mindset of your heart (heartset?), everything else falls back into place.
Allow me to slip into a Harry Potterism yet again: My journals are my own personal pensieve.
I think I write so much because my memory sucks. If it weren't for the journals that chronicle my life, it's possible that I would have forgotten my life. And yes, alright... the first journal may be covered in butterflies and glitter, but it doesn't make what's inside any less relevant.
But what do I do with all the stuff that's written to me? Notes? Birthday cards? Love letters? I am so blessed to have been surrounded by love. I just don't know what to do with the tangible papers and cards that fill my room. I like to read through all of them in context with the stuff I was writing at the same time. It's the best kind of retrospection.
That's my goal. A little life time machine. I'm basically Dr. Who.
Speaking of time machine: I'm reading Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, I'm working my way through the first season of Ally McBeal. That combined with the picture my girlfriend sent me last night of FROGGY FLEECE PAJAMA PANTS, I think we actually created a vortex to 1996.
...I should get a job.
...I should get a job.
