I've sat here staring at this screen for 15 minutes trying to figure out what exactly to write about the past year of my life. How 2011 was such a decent year and even though some bad things happened that it was a fairly quiet 365 days for me.
I still have most of 2011 on a paper journal which I miss. I miss the ink flowing onto the page every night, giving me a bit of solace. I don't get that here. I feel more like journaling is a chore rather than a passion. I wish I still had all my past journals. It would be a fun venture to sit down and read how much I have changed over the course of my life. I started journaling during the Gulf War in 1990. I can remember writing to bring the soldiers home. Funny how the world hasn't seemed to change so much.
Perhaps tomorrow I will buy a new notebook to write in and this can be my second avenue. I'm not even reading as much as I would like lately. I don't have the inspiration or gratification.
It's time to pass out.
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