I was looking for my copy of The Stranger so that I could read it again, when I came across another journal of mine and began to read its contents. Oh My. Oh My! I do not enjoy re-reading the the things I write. It feels as though the past is creeping up on me. There’s no need to be concerned with what has happened. But then what would the point of writing be? I rationalize, of course.
I found this journal entry I made on December 27, 2016. “I’d like to share it with my readers,” I think. “But there’s a bunch of shit on my desk!” I look at the boxes of tampons at odd directions. A package of my birth control is underneath and against two single tampons – closed of course. Oh and there’s another package to the left of my keyboard with a black scrunchy on top enclosed by some other items I don’t think should be mentioned. I cringe. I get up and go back to looking for my book.
I am back in the same place I began preparing myself for the reach downward into the pile of books held in a woven basket. I bend over, arching my back while grabbing stacks of books into my arms and setting them against my exercise ball. I take another stack and place between my elbow and thigh. My left elbow balances the first stack of books on top of the ball. I lower my left forearm down into the pile and lift Albert Camus’ masterpiece from within the grasps of The Legend of Zelda guide that is topped with a StarCraft II: Legacy of the Void Collector’s Edition and a plastic bag with miscellaneous items inside.
I slide all of the items back in place and retreat back to my uncomfortable chair – Ashley’s is delivering better furniture in less than 48 hours – where I begin to finally write what I wrote.
Sometimes I forget that writing is my rock. It’s been my rock since I was a girl. Writing about my teachers. Writing about boys I liked. Writing about my hopes for the future. This is where I get myself together. PUT! myself Back. Together. Writing is my rock.
Words are my medium. Through which I express my sadness, my happiness, my successes, my failures. My plans. My goals. My ambitions. My dreams. And for sometime now, I’ve allowed myself to stray away. As I do with all things. Because that’s the way life goes. So ultimately, it does not matter that I strayed. Because baby I’m back.
See, this is where my writing starts to deteriorate. As I need the end and continue writing for the sake of feeling my pen glide.
I think writing is one of the most empowering crafts I ever discovered as a young girl into my womanhood. In so many ways, I have grown through writing. That’s the whole reason I started this blog. To share my writing with other people who love writing. Yes, it is also about sharing my knowledge on how to living a holistic healthy life, but infused in me producing pieces on this broad topic is a piece of me. And that piece is writing.
Now, to my book.