Reading harold_maude's journal

I've just spent the last few minuets looking through all the titles of things I have written here.
I even stopped long enough to read parts and peices of them.
After writing the last journal entry and all the toughts I wondered if this was a re-occuring thing with me.
And I've come to the conclusion that it is.

I spend alot of time in a place of observation due to certian aspects of my life and so what I write about comes from that place.
I'm greatful for my journals. All of them, even the ones where I put the darkest and deepest pain in. They are precious to me even though at some point I will distroy them before I die.

I tend to see a persons journal kind of like a private shower.
Your completely naked, alone and the water and soap are washing away the crap of the world off your skin and out of your hair.
You feel clean afterwards.
A new chance to try to avoid dirt.
It never works because you have to take a shower again at some point, but for a very brief time, you feel really clean.
That's what writing in my journals does for me I think.
When my brain is on over load I write. The words and the pages are my brain's soap and water and when I'm done I can walk away and not think about it for at least a little while.

And that's a comforting thought.

It only looks that way because your standing on your head.