One of my gifts this year was a plain journal from Wal Mart. It’s not whimsical, romantic, or even cute. It is black and simple. Inside the pages are white, not cream, and have straight black lines running across the page, and there are no symbols or quotes from anyone hindering the flow of words *hooray*

In spite of the outer appearance, which is tolerable, I love this journal more than most of my others. I suppose it is due to the fact that I did not have a journal from my birthday back in early October until Christmas Eve, and I was going through major journaling withdrawals. I tried to write on loose pieces of paper but they were lost quite easily. I was frustrated and I did not know why. I always sit at night and write down the events of the day - if they are worth mentioning. But for a little over two months, I was uneasy, as if something was missing. I knew I didn’t have a journal, but I didn’t realize that I was anxious over not having a place to put my thoughts. Christmas Eve came and I opened splendid gifts… Homeschool Dropouts, pashminas, an Edwardian Apron, and other marvelous things…yet after everything was put into the places that they would stay, the ugly little journal stayed in my hands where I wrote and wrote until I was content again. I filled it with memories, accounts, and thoughts, and to have no more blank pages was a comforting sight. Not to mention that this little journal has like 400 pages…which means I won’t run out of room anytime soon.

In my first entry, I wrote down “Since October I have not had a journal and I have felt incomplete, as if I have not been able to secure the events of the days gone by” Not that I have been really “incomplete”
but just mentally I have needed that reminder of days gone by; a place where I can look back and remember things that I probably would’ve forgotten if I had not written them down. It is a comfort to know that I don’t have to store everything in my mind that I want to remember, for I have a trusty little companion who eagerly soaks up the ink of the pen and holds it until I can come back and relive the events of the day.