Musty Old Notebooks.

For years and years I kept a journal. It started out as a twelfth grade English assignment that I just never stopped doing. Well, eventually I did stop writing in it after about fourteen or fifteen years. I've got four or five thousand pages of stuff in an old milk crate under my bed. I used to get a lot of enjoyment out of writing my thoughts everyday, but eventually the whole concept just got old. I also used to enjoy pulling the crate out and rereading old entries, but when I look at a lot of this stuff now I can't stand it. There's bad writing, whining, moping, ranting, and more than a few pages make me wonder if I was certifiably insane when I wrote it. But, despite my revulsion over my earlier output, I miss keeping a journal, a blog simply doesn't give me the same release.