To be honest, my blog is not an unadulterated journal. I write with an audience in mind. I use to believe that writing was necessary to my existence. I needed to write. At the age of 13 years old, I began my first journal. I diligently and faithfully wrote in my journal until I was 33. Life then became too complicated and interfered with writing. I now only write periodically. I use to do a majority of my writing while at work. In fact, I wrote my autobiography at that time. People often said I would get bored in a position because I needed intellectual stimulation, but I don't really get bored. I write. I remember. I explore. I can create my own intellectual stimulation.
I think exercise took the place of running. It became my therapy. Writing was put to the side, and sadly, I now notice I only write in my journal when I'm distressed over something, which unfortunately presents a completely distorted perception of reality.
I use to not only write in a journal, but I use to write regularly for enjoyment. I have binders at home where I organized my writing. They are categorized as follows: Essays, Quotes, Misc. Works, Poetry. I recently perused through these binder, and in that Quote binder were excerpts from my journal. I've changed alot in the years. I'm still a romantic, but I'm not so influenced by classical literature. I'm much more comfortable with who I am, and I'm a much happier person.
I want to write more, but I just can't seem to commit. What happened? I wish I knew....I have incomplete writings all over....I lack the discipline to continue....anyway, I thought I'd share some quotes from my personal journals. One of these days, my kids will inherit that collection of books, and they will know how interesting and yet neurotic their mother was....
My mind is a mediocrity. My heart is a genius.
In chaos, I shall fine peace.
My heart is your soul's sanctuary.
My heart is stained with your life.
I will love you with an intensity known to few.
My heart has a singular mind of its own, and it refuses to follow any other path than the one it paves for itself...a complete disregard for me and the general improvement of my fate.
Everything affects me in such a deep way. I feel so vulnerable to everything. I do believe I live without skin.
I have nothing but shit in my mouth so let me shut up before I cover you in it.
I feel quite peaceful and calm. That is the key to serenity...not to think. I must do this more often.
I wish I could be stronger with a "fuck you" attitude. It's just that I feel and care too much.
I fear small talk. It is a cursed disease and I hate to be inflicted with its germs.
When will this journal be complete so i will never have to look back on the pain that is still fresh in my soul.
I cannot keep up with the pace that my mind travels in.
I think all the answers to the world lie in oneself...
I know I can get/have a boyfriend so easily but my heart is being an ass and not allowing this.
I need people too much, and I despise that about myself.
I want love...like Maggie (Mill on the Floss)...it's the greatest need in my nature.
You see the worst and best in humanity in the same experience.
My soul has an insatiable hunger for knowledge.
I am thoroughly disgusted by my ingratitude for all the beauty in my life.
Sometimes wounds heal, but the scars are there to remind us of what once was...
I am in love with myself.
How my existence depends so much on the existence of others!
My capability of loving too passionately is my weakness, because that is where the vulnerability of my character exists.
Happiness is, in a sense, deceptive, because with happiness comes sadness. You cannot be happy without sadness. Those two are eternally wedded. The more profound your happiness is then the more profound your sadness will be.
I have an insatiable need for passionate love...the depth and sensitivity of my emotional capacity isolates me from my peers.
Idealism makes man strong, but reality makes man wise.
No comments:
Post a Comment