Thursday, February 13, 2014

oldness vs newness

It's finally happened: I've come to the end of my most recent notebook. It hasn't been that long of a journey, really. I started it at Summer's end. But somehow I always manage to get really attached to journals, whether they're in my life for a year, or a third of one. The very last page of this one is a to-do list for the coming months, which is sort of fitting, I think. It's an unconscious refusal to say, this is the end, and instead it says, this is the beginning. A brand new notebook, though? It's ALL beginning. There's nothing to root yourself in there. How do you even know who you are for sure when there's no evidence anywhere? Nothing has been ripped out. The cover isn't worn. All the pages are blank.

I hate it.

There's something so comforting about this:


And something so unsettling about this:


For me, at least. I'm sure there are people out there who love starting new notebooks and journals. I am just not one of them. So. Here I go into the day, bringing my blank pages with me and hoping I haven't forgotten who I am between yesterday and today. Hoping I remember how to start again.

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