Journaling Junkie

6 articles tagged as Journaling Junkie

Ssoul mates seems to be a concept that we are getting away from as a society.  You do not need anyone else to complete you, you are already complete in yourself.  You are already whole.

And I think that is true.  I am whole.

But.  There is something very alluring about the idea that there is someone who can fill in your weak points and make you better, someone who is so connected to you that they understand you completely.  You are home where they are.  You are loved unconditionally because they get you.  They see you as clearly and they do not look away.

Looking at the couples around me, I don’t see a great deal of evidence that soul mates exist.  I wonder if the point is to find someone you can live with and have a decent life with, someone you can get along with.  The good enough.  So many marriages seem to be – I don’t know how to express it.  People live together, get along well enough, but mostly it is two people living their own lives.  Their point of connection seems to be their children or their pets or just the comfort of knowing that they are not alone.   That they have fulfilled the expectation of getting a spouse and now they can just do what they want.

I listen to people complain about their spouses and I wonder what the point is.  I realize a certain amount of it is that it is nice to grouse to someone who is pretty good at keeping their mouth shut, as I am, everyone needs that pressure release, I guess.  (Though, I never complain about my mother, who I live with and do a lot of things with?  And it’s not because she’s my mother, I just get along with her really well.  We are very similar as people and pretty easy going.)

I know what I want…I want someone I can be completely comfortable with, that can be loved and will love me without condition.  Someone who will be honest with me but kind about it, someone I can sit on the couch with and be quiet with and read next to and be at peace when they are around me.  I want companionship and love and a feeling of connection, a feeling that we are on the same wave length about things.  I wonder if you can find someone that you have that level of mutual understanding with, or if, in the end, we just make do with what we can find?  We find someone and we think, yes, this is about as good as it gets.  Let’s just do our best with this because this is enough.

I hope not.  I hope there are soul mates.  I hope real relationships are more than that.

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Ddreaming was her greatest outlet.

The same could be said for most people, of course, but it was doubly true for her.  She had a notebook made out of a three ring binder with a swan on the cover, and she filled the binder with whatever paper she could get her hands on.

And she drew her heart out.  Everything that made her sad, everything that made her happy.  She drew butterflies, and tapped on the page, and they came alive, fluttering off the paper, the thin blue lines from the paper becoming veins in the wings.  The butterflies swarmed, up, up into the sky, before plummeting down and attacking a man.

There was no reason.  He had not done even the slightest thing to her, but she did it because she wanted to hear him scream.

Sometimes, her dreams were different.  She dreamed of being good, of saving the world.  She dreamed of beautiful people who loved her fiercely, protectively, she dreamed of all the kindness she could do, if she were rich, if she were powerful.

So sometimes, she dreamed she was the hero.

But sometimes she also has to dream that she was the villain.  Sometimes you had to feel the world burn to want to save it.

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I have often heard tales of the perfect date.

One of my friends took his future wife wild caving on their first date. While I love their story (apparently it was quite impressive, camping and everything) and see how this absolutely was perfect for them, *I* have gone wild caving and am much less convinced that I would find it as romantic. There is a lot of mud and darkness and tiny spaces involved, in general, and these are not high on my list of romantic things.

But, joking aside, I probably would.

The perfect date is not about activities or money spent or candles or flowers. Candles, flowers, nice food, interesting things to do are trappings. They don’t mean anything because if the romance is wonderful, if the person you are with becomes the one who holds your heart, then the simplest of dates will stand out as more beloved, more perfect, than any possible situation. And just so, if the romance sours, even a cruise down the Rhine will sour in your memory.

So a perfect date boils down to the company. I tend to be happiest conversing one on one, so good company, something pleasant to do to generate good conversation…what more can one want?

But, if someone secretly someday hopes this post holds the secret to winning my heart, I will say, walking is nice. Walking where there is lots of water and rocks…or perhaps a historic district with lots of pretty buildings is even better. Or a museum. I do like looking at pretty things.

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Aalot of things strike me as cute and cuddly.  The normal — baby animals, of all kinds.  Who can resist a baby sloth?

My favorite things are soft things.   Right now I am cuddled up under a very soft electric throw, wrapped up in super fuzzy soft blankets.  I think snowmen are adorable.  Monkeys make my heart melt.  Foxes are a delight.  I went to a huge park in Florida where they let Macaques run free over several acres of land, and the humans would walk through fenced in (on all sides) pathways.  The monkeys would rattle little plates on chains, and smack their little hands imperiously on the wood frame work, demanding raisins from the visitors.  I will never forget their little fingers touching mine as they accepted my offerings.

My favorite image, when you turn toward romance (for this is the month for it) is of a sweet hearted man in a thick, comfy sweater, pottering around the garden with a cup of tea and a book.  That, to me, is a rather idealistic image.

This weekend was good.  Mum and I went to a state park for our first walk of the season.  Raccoon Creek State Park was very lovely.  The weather was in the 60’s, mum and I didn’t need a jacket…we just walked freely.

My favorite part was getting to the waterfall…you could walk into the cave, the mouth surrounded by ice.  The lake was also iced over, and it was really rather beautiful.  The ice was jade green, though the photos don’t show it.



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Ffalling in love with writing was easy.

You live out in the middle of nowhere, stories become your friends.  Stories on the long bus rides to and from school, stories while you play, stories while you fall asleep.

To this day I think more in stories, I often day dream things to help me figure out what to say or what to do.  I would rather day dream than think about my day.  I’ll solve a problem or think about a decision if needed, but once the ship of my life is turned in the right direction, stories again are what fill my brain.

So it was not such a huge step, going from stories in my had to writing them down.  It’s such a different set of mechanics…things don’t have to be so thoroughly planned or understood in day dreams as they are in writing (though to be honest, the better you get at writing the more you slip things into day dreams to keep them sensible) or so perfectly plotted.  I love how writing makes you flesh out the world, the people, how you have such a larger palette of words and tools at your disposal.  If I were to write down a day dream – and I rarely do – it would change so very much between the mind and the screen.

As I said, I rarely write down day dreams, because I try not to think over much about what I am writing except when I am stuck.  I prefer to have that moment of discovery at the screen to keep me motivated to keep writing.  If I day dream it. I have already experienced it and I am les motivated to sit and type. Perverse, right?

Tthat brings me to soft candle light.  A couple of times the electricity has been knocked out for days where I live.  The last time I was in the middle of writing something…2009, I think.  We were without power for 9 days.

I lived by candle light. I did not have a laptop so could not write until the battery ran out, so I wrote by candlelight and by the light of kerosene oil lamps.  I read by it, covered by high heaps of covers to keep warm, cooked by it on a propane camp stove.   It is a kinder light, in some ways, yellow and gentle, but the shadows are deeper.  More things can hide in the corners.

To me, candle light is not overly romantic, but a mark of a time of quiet.  Nothing is quieter than a house without electricity, especially in winter during a snow storm.  No cars pass on the road.  The snow smothers most incidental sounds and the animals are in hiding.  All electrical appliances seem to hum, even if the sound is nearly undetectable, and with the power out all that white noise is gone.

I like it, to be honest. That absolute silence.  BUT, I like flushing toilets (nothing says fun like walking down a steep hill with a bucket or two to try and fill it at a creek you hope is not completely frozen over) and automatic heat more.

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This sticky post is so that you can follow along with my journal attempts. Check out the Journaling Junkie:

If you participate, please comment and I’ll go read your post!

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