Journal

“Do you journal?“

Ugh.

This is the second time in the last day someone asked me that. And my therapist says I should.

I journal mentally but the thought of writing things down in a notebook seems like a lot of work. I’m always thinking about my day and the emotional wreck that is my existence. I just don’t really write it down. The closest I have come to consistently journaling or real journaling is…surprise, surprise…this blog.

I guess the advantage of a written journal is that whatever random thoughts and touchy feely stuff I put in there just sits in a notebook on my nightstand and doesn’t sit inside me, and I don’t have to worry about my mom reading it. (Don’t worry, she doesn’t know where I live, let alone how to get inside the house).

There is a long list of things that stress me out from a three year plus divorce process, my kids that hate me, a job that can be of uncertain security even on its best days, avoiding wallpaper removal, and a cat that is so needy he turns me to the dark side of avoidant attachment style. Journaling would definitely maybe help me out. And journalling would make my therapist and girlfriend proud.

What’s fun is that the more I write here about pointless (and not pointless) stuff, the more it starts to look like I’m journalling. This is great!

Okay, I don’t feel like pouring my mind out tonight, but at least it’s a start. Better than playing games on my phone or spraying my bad cat with a water bottle.

Yay me!

I’m writing…er, journalling…and that’s progress.