Saturday, April 30



Sometimes, I forget I am a writer, taking photos is so much easier than sitting down and having to deal with my thoughts.  Thoughts.  They run through my head at lighting speed with no apparent regard for my regular schedule of daily mindings.  They are sporadic, random and rarely significant.  As I get used to the streams of thoughts running through my head, I start to develop a sense of immunity to them.  In essence, I start ignoring them. 

And that's actually a little odd since I vocalize even less in real life.  I am one of those people who respond "Fine" when you ask "How's life?"  What I really want to say sometimes is, "It's wonderful.  I am constantly challenged at work and I love the people I work with.  And.. this sucks because..." Part of me wonders where did all those thoughts go?

THAT diary in the photo above is widely recognized.  I always used the same one.  In fact, I buy the same one when I am done with it.  Anyone close recognized it as the book I used to sit down and write in every night.  Usually it's nothing except rants, raves and meaningless thoughts.  Still, at the end of every day... I go to sleep being a bit clearer and happier knowing that I can write my frustrations away.  

I believed that writing and verbalizing thoughts will make it come true.
Something happened a couple years back and I stopped writing to and for myself.
I stopped believing that my thoughts were important.

Today, James said, "Val, you write beautifully.  You need to write more."