Tuesday, August 13, 2013

On keeping track

I remember a holiday to Cornwall where Maman gave me and Ben a big notebook (mine was shiny and gold) to keep a journal of our trip.  And for whatever reason, I was SOOO against this idea.  I still don't why.  I just remember really, really not wanting to do that, being completely disiniterested and absolutely loathing the end of the day when I was made to sit down and write a page.  And poor Maman, trying to get me to write just a little every day, wondering what this vehemence against the journal was all about.  Or just exasperatedly rolling her eyes, I don't know.  I also know that when we got home from that holiday, I tore out of the notebook the few scraps that I had been coerced into writing and threw them away.  That story makes me a little sad - why didn't I want to write? Why was I so drastically opposed to an activity that involved using my brain and sitting quietly for a few minutes? Oh no, was I one of THOSE kids? I live in horror of those kids...the ones who only understand TV and the latest trend of McDonalds Happy Meal toys.  And don't like anything creative or imaginative.  Please let me not have been one of those kids.

On the upside of this - look at me now.  Voluntarily journalling all over the place.  Even when I'm inconsistent with this, a day doesn't go by when I don't write down something - on a napkin, on a scrap of receipt paper, on my hand to remember to expand upon it later.  Yesterday I began a composition of sorts that took up several pages of a large notebook.  Try and stop me now.

I wonder what that is?

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