Putting It On Paper

My mother once told me, don't put anything in writing you don't want someone to see.  I'm pretty sure my mom told me that.  It could have been Maggie Seaver, the mom from Growing Pains...but I think it was my real mom.  

Anyways.  Some mom told me that.  And I never really listened.  And every once in awhile, I get the urge to journal.  I've only ever filled up one journal in my life.  Most I start and then grow disenchanted with the idea and it goes somewhere to die...in a drawer or my hope chest.  I do still have my journals from junior high, high school, and college.  Man.  We are stupid when we are young.  It's amazing we make it out as seemingly well-rounded human beings.   So I started a new journal today and thought I would share my first entry with you guys...because let's be honest...my blog IS my journal.

It has this cute little page where you can write where to return if found and how much you will pay the finder...

October 28, 2015

I've been lugging this thing around for nigh on 2 months.  I really had to have it.  I searched multiple places for the "perfect" little book? journal? diary? life catalogue? and finally decided on this plain, black Moleskin.

I have to admit, two paragraphs in, I am feeling pretty good about my selection.  The paper is like butter underneath my pen.  And I love butter.  Honestly, there are two types of people in this world...Those who love butter, and those who lie and say they DON'T love butter.  But I digress.

Starting a new journal can be SO anxiety ridden.  I mean, there are so many questions.  You have to decide HOW you are going to use your journal.  Shall it be full of self-doubt and self-loathing?  Will it be an Oprah-esqe gratitude journal?  Will you press the beautiful flowers your find while reflecting and journaling in a field between the pages?!?!?

So much indecision.  And in the end, shouldn't the expectation be that it doesn't really matter because it's only for your eyes?  Perhaps.  But let us be real.  Don't we all imagine that in 100 years from now our journals will be uncovered in some dusty attic of the future and our words will serve as a guide for some young teenage girl navigating the path of self discovery?  Don't we all think that? No? Yes? OH YES.  I think so.

And then there is the choice of writing utensil.  Pen or pencil?  I would choose pencil any day, but a pencil scribed journal will never hold up for the 100 year uncovering, so you have to use a pen.  

So ultimately, I just decided to start somewhere.  And here we are.

Today I am 36 years, 1 month, 2 weeks and 3 days old.  I actually don't know about those last few numbers, but I was born on 9.8.1979, so i you are some crazy mathematician and want to figure it out, go for it.

In less than 3 months I will be married to one Heather Ann Gainey.  Which means I have less than 3 months to lose a few pounds that show themselves when my corsetted wedding dress is laced up tight and my backfat (or possibly stomach fat that has been pushed up to my shoulders thanks to my corset) makes an appearance.  But not to worry.  My waist and booty look banging.  So perhaps no one will see the above mentioned backfat because they will be so mesmerized by the rest of me.

While I did not weigh today, we could estimate my current fighting weight is 192.  I am pretty much a size 12, hazel eyes, not naturally blonde hair, currently unpainted fingernails, wearing a dress and spanx tights.  Today was leg day at the gym...which I murdered.

Today's mood:  pretty chipper, but I can feel myself teetering on the brink of being emotionally needy and hungry for attention which could result in crying myself to sleep when those needs are not met.

And this is where I shall end for the day because my hand is cramping from CLEARLY the wrong pen choice.  May this journal be filled with magical writings, mood trackings, and yes...probably a few pages of self-loathing.  Until next time journal...be well.