Samara O'Shea

Sporadic Journaling

I came across this year-old journal entry while looking for someone’s phone number. Normally, I journal in my journal (as is appropriate), but there are times when my journal is not handy and I have to make due with the nearest piece of paper. In this case it was my notebook. My notebook is a small spiral-bound book I carry with me to write down phone numbers, Web sites, to-do lists, addresses, and sometimes actual journal entries. It’s a book of all trades. It’s much lighter than my journal and stays in my purse.

The problem is I’m never prepared to re-read my notebook the way I re-read my journal. If and when I re-read my journal, I mentally get ready to be embarrassed, shocked, and—on a good day—enlightened by what I once wrote. There is no such prep for my notebook because I always flip through it carelessly looking for something else. Finding a journal entry in there is like a finding a book in the fridge. It’s well . . . strange. So this is what I got when looking for a simple phone number the other day:

January 15, 2008

It’s so quiet here. So quiet that I wonder if I’ll ever again be surrounded by noise. I want to sleep but I can’t—it’ll ruin my actual sleep. I want to go into my room but its messy and I’d rather not deal with it.

Bob invited me out this evening. I lied and told him I was still in Boston. I want to go out but I don’t want to risk arriving then wanting to go right away—wishing I had stayed home in the first place.