The one-line-a-day journal is not for me.

I was visiting my sister last year in Seattle, and we were browsing the books in one of her neighborhood bookshops when I stumbled upon this charming little journal called One Line a Day.  Instantly, the journal appealed to me, and I am not sure exactly why.  Maybe it was the pale blue color with the elegant gold lettering and gold-dipped page edges, or maybe it was just the simplicity of it-of having to just write one line a day.  What a cool idea, I thought. What I should have thought was, what a cool idea for somebody else.

As someone who has kept a journal on and off my whole life, I realize there are many words to describe my writing style, but concise is not one of them.  Whenever I tell a story of any kind, I need to include some details, voice, emotion, and sometimes a little back story.  Otherwise, it's just a really lame report without much substance.

And honestly, who gives a flying crap about a lame report?  Even when I read back at old journal entries, I need to find my own self entertaining.  Just the facts are not enough for me.  Also, just in case someone decides to be nosy and read through my journals, I need to make this shit sound interesting.

Anyway, it was as if this stupid little journal had cast a spell upon me, causing me to believe that one line a day is enough.  And for a while, I drank that stupid little blue book's potion.  I'd somehow pick up my pen and scribble a crappy sentence which I deemed worthy of summarizing my day.  This worked for a few months.  Then my entries started looking like this:

After a while, writing in that journal left me feeling increasingly unfulfilled and stifled.  As much as I wanted to like it, it just wasn't satisfying my needs.  It was like dating someone you're just not that into.  Frankly, I was tired of faking it all the time, and I have since wised up and returned to my old ways.

Although I have returned to my old journal that I know and love, every once in a while, I feel bad for that sad little blue book on my shelf and decide to write a sentence inside.  This leaves me feeling like one of those dumb girls that tries to work things out with an ex when it never really worked in the first place.

Here is one that I wrote in February of this year after a moment of weakness:

It says, "It is really windy today."

I'm not falling for your tricks anymore, Blue.  We're over for good this time.  Now, go find yourself someone that is satisfied with being concise and boring.