I put my journal in the bottom drawer of my bureau and have ignored it for a very long time. I just wanted to stay in the shallow part of the ocean. In other words I didn't want to think very deeply. I just wanted to live in the day to day to dayness of life.
I find that when I pick up a pen and paper suddenly my thoughts and feelings go deep sometimes so deep down that I can't see the sky. I know that some people who write in journals or diaries use them as simple chronicles of the circumstances of their day. An example, "Got up. Ate oatmeal. Sewed for the Bond's. Skipped lunch. Dinner was toast, coffee and chipped beef. Sewed until bedtime. Performed my nighttime ablutions. Went to bed at 9:30 pm. I think I just drifted off to sleep reading that as I wrote it. SO BORING!
People living after me may read this. Probably not. I won't have any children in this world. Madame's enforced slavery took that away from me. Eric, and Jamie are my foster sons but when I die they may not even look through my things. They probably will just give my clothing to the poor and throw out the rest. Well that was a great way to depress myself!
I'm feeling empty tonight. I don't know why I pulled out my journal on a gray, winter day in Calkington. Actually I DO understand. I need somewhere safe to vent. I need blank pages in a journal to write the words, I'm lonely. I want a family. I want to feel like there is more to my life than working so that I can eat and live in shelter, only to work again so that I can eat and live in shelter.
I'm trying to accept what Blake has to offer. There is certainly no other man beating my door down to get to my heart. Well, Red was infatuated with me for awhile. The thing is that I would rather lead this empty, sterile life than to marry someone only for company.
Well I now feel much worse than when I started this entry. Back the journal goes to the bottom of my bureau, buried under layers of clothing.
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