The Musings of Molly

A blog primarily chronicling the artistic and writerly endeavors of a girl who moves with the change in wind patterns, and is always trying to puzzle out, and explore the life given.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Journals 1, 2, 3

It has been awhile although for those who closely keep tabs on me, you'll know the insane events that filtered through my existence in life here this past week and will be thrilled to learn that I have both successfully not encountered further life-altering/threatening circumstances nor was the primary catalyst in said events for others. Beyond that, I'm happy to note that I have made an investment.

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Once upon a time, there was a girl who had countless journals that a person once commented ought to be named and labeled as to keep track of them. To this girl this seemed silly, as she had a complete sense of every journal and what rules applied to that given journal all laid out in her head. (She uses the term journal loosely as both sketchbook and lines are more appropriate given the book.) This girl was studious at carrying around one journal all the time wherever she went. In this book she filled it with quotes she liked, phrases of conversation that captured the essence of dialogue, sketches of places that struck her fancy, or just the natural notations of an artistic mind. In another journal, the only lined journal she owned, she wrote her woes, her puzzlements, her frustrations with growing up and with people and with life in general. Aware of the danger such ponderings might have on those innocent bistanders addressed in the time of heated journaling, the girl preferred the black leather flap that both closed this journal and reiterated further investigation with a leather cord, tied often in a bow, or knot, depending on the mood. This girl noticed that each journal took approximately two years to fill and then she replaced them as necessary. While the girl did not consider herself compulsive, she held strict rules for each of the two journals, one being that in the carry-around-everywhere journal, names had to be converted into code for fear of falling into the wrong hands, black or blue dribble ink or pencil where also the only forms of writing utensils permitted on the page unless an artistic medium. Similarly, the black leather notebook was permitted to utilize names, (much better for venting) but was only alloted the black dribble ink pen within its pages.

This went on for a number of years until the girl went to art school and the carry-around-everywhere journal disappeared. Following closely after that and given a different set of life circumstances, so too did the black journal. In many ways the girl changed, though no longer recorded in print. The girl changed and seemed to not fit well with the half-completed journals. They seemed like pants too small for the taller body, like a fashion sense that made one lift a brow. This changed girl decided maybe it was time for something new. Some new words, new sketches, new consistency.

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Today, I purchased a brown leather journal. Equally, after four stops into various bookstores/art stores, I have settled on a new journal to carry around in my Mary Poppin's purse.

1 Comments:

Blogger E... said...

Glad to hear a journal is back in your life. For now, Mr. Blogger Screen has to act as mine, as all other books and scraps of paper tend to get lost in all the other piles of toys, board books and construction paper around here...

September 29, 2009 at 11:41 AM  

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