Journal Block
JOURNAL BLOCK
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
The journals are tucked in neat rows with their spines pointed upwards. They sit in a deep pot drawer in my kitchen that doubles as a creativity cave/pit. The journals have unique covers, some Indian silk, some handmade paper, others colorful patterned board. Some, are not so exotic, just calico or upholstery fabric. I chose them with care and thoughts of filling each page with great writing. Some were gifts from friends who knew me, but not well enough to know I would not fill them.
I especially like the ones with the intricate closures. Some have tight bands that both close and can be set as place holders for those precious words yet to be written. My favorite has straw-like ties that wrap around a free form leather fastener. There has to be a message there.
Closure first.
I should fill this white space with something more positive and life affirming. It is much easier to compose on a keyboard than in a precious small book doubling as a confession booth. I don’t have to choose the right pen compatible with the texture of the tightly bound blank pages. I can sit comfortably at my desk pecking away at my laptop. No need to squirm around in an upholstered chair, now too big for me, nor take the journal into my bed. where I will complain to myself about the lighting or fuss with the pillows to get the angle in the correct position so my arm will be comfortable and my handwriting legible. How many excuses is that?
Speaking of handwriting, I have as many styles as moods. My journals would be a patchwork of ambiguity, and what am I doing now? Just spinning words hoping something will come up and take over and write itself.
I have read a few books on Handwriting Analysis. It’s interesting and used often in European countries during hiring procedures. The dwarfish, tight hand of a good accountant, the gracious forward large letter slant of an emotional and dependent person. And the back slant of someone needing attention. The straight up and down of someone that gets things done. It is all quite mysterious, but there are patterns and there are labels.
It is easier to go get the mail or bake an apple than pursue this rambling, so folks that is my plan for the evening.
IN THE END,
the journals are all empty.
The ones that had been written in were tossed years ago when I was still assuming someone might be interested in my thoughts, though fearful of their judgement.
446 WORDS
LOIS K RUDNICK
