Sometime in fifth grade, I started my first journal in a little blue-and-pink book. I wrote in pencil and addressed each entry "Dear Diary". "Diary" became the only long-lasting "pretend friend" I ever had; once, I even imagined her coming to school with me. A year or two later, I got the quirky notion that pretend friends might be a little too close to familiar spirits, so I gave over writing to Diary and began a more narrative form of journaling.
It's hilarious and rather embarrassing to go back and read that first journal now; much more amusing than my high school journals, which ought to be burnt. I did stay an avid journaler, and probably have over a thousand pages logged in various notebooks and folders, but in the past few years that has tapered off into nothingness. Part of that is that love worth writing about has been more interesting to live and less needful of endless speculation. The rest has more to do with the fact that computers have spoiled me for writing with pens and pencils; I can keep up with my thoughts so much better with a keyboard, and I don't have to scratch things out and redo them in the margins.
For better or for worse, this blog has become the closest thing I have to a regular journal. It needs to be much more regular, of course, to fill that role, and--being public--can't quite be as sensational, and hopefully not as absurd, as the notebooks in my closet. But it's likely that the posts will become more thoughts and less commentary; I've decided that I'm a journaler, not a journalist.
Here's today's entry, then.
* * *
The sky is blue today. After growing up in Big Sky country, I think often about how much I miss the sky and the sun, and it's a huge relief whenever I actually get to see it.
The bright light coming through the stained glass windows at church made my eyes ache, but I didn't care. Mass takes on a special joy when the sun comes in; it feels a little like the difference between believing and seeing.
Lou and I took a long walk downtown after church. He bought me a coffee at Starbucks and we sat out in the sun and were quiet together. I probably didn't need to go for a grande caramel macchiato--it's made me a little jittery--but it tasted good, and the hot drink made sitting in the cold more comfortable.
It felt wonderful to get some vitamin D the natural way. Right now I'm taking a crazy amount of vitamins, trying to normalize my nonsensical overwrought body. But sunshine makes everything seem better.
Not being a very patient person, I don't like waiting very much. Especially not uncertain waiting. I told myself I wouldn't cry this month, but why break an unbroken tradition? It feels silly for me to want something so much, when my life is so blessed and happy in almost every way, but I don't know what to do with the desire. It's instinctive, animalian. Feminine. And it's all so out of my control. The routine goes unchanged: pray, offer it up, and put my mind on something more likely to make me cheerful.
If I had to describe it in one word, I'd have to say "propaganda". But I suppose that isn't fair. Lou didn't get that feeling, at least not as strongly as I did. Maybe I've gotten a little over-cynical about anything that looks even remotely like an agenda from the left. Walking past one of those hideous sixties-style murals today, I saw the word "Excitement" and read it as "Excrement". Bah.
Admittedly, Wall-E succeeded remarkably for a movie with so little dialogue. It was quite creative, and Wall-E's pet cockroach made me laugh.
* * *
The sun is still out ... and up for just a few more minutes. Lou and I are going for another walk.