Zero to Hero Day 3


Every time I purchase a journal it is with the expectation that I will produce a masterpiece. When I die my work will be published posthumously. Fame is fine so long as I do not have to live up to it. Having died I will have exonerated myself of all responsibility. Having died my solitude will be assured. My memory will live on in the hearts of others, my wealth will line the pockets of unmet progeny, and I will have lived out my destiny as a struggling artist.


My journals are illegible, nonsensical, undated, and written with haste on whatever page my pen lands on even if that page is upside down, sideways, or in the heart of a book that has no beginning whatsoever. If anyone actually read one of my journals (assuming anyone could decipher my hand-writing and topography) I would be mortified. My entries begin with reticence and militant incisions in the hopes of producing something sufficiently legible and sufficiently intellectual to justify my delusions of grandeur. They degenerate quickly into mascara thick letters which I trace and retrace until they are buoyant enough to float on my tears (I cry when I write). I end with whatever wisdom I’ve gathered or forged through said experience. I make the arduous journey from villain to sage in about fifteen minutes which speaks more of theatricality than enlightenment. I liken each page to the moon, the more I cover up, the more manageable the wolf.


I started an electronic journal because I find the lines of my paper-bound ones too confrontational. Those beautiful books implore me to create beautiful words but my fingers are too clumsy to produce the desired result. That I should literally devour the page speaks of a perverse need within me to corrupt that which is too perfect. My journals are ugly and inexcusable. I would love to say something like “Well at least they are passionate” but they are only passionate in the execution, the content itself is fairly vacuous as much of it deals with my insecurities. They do not in any way commemorate my life as I almost never speak of my life in concrete terms and as there is no real way to distinguish one day from the next. I’ve determined that my ideal journal should be written in the 1800s by someone else entirely.
I'm a Zero to Hero Blogger!


10 responses

  1. And just yesterday, I was smoking on the window and for some reason I had the “Death plan talk” in my head and I thought about you, I thought “I should send her all my writing, just zipped into some document, so you know, some intelligent part of me survives this blighted land”. I can totaly relate about the journal also. As a part of therapy I was taking when I was younger I was advised to write one, but I found it to be a homework, not something liberating, I was trying so hard for it to be readable and in the best cursive you will ever see, so I gave up on it and moved to whatever paper I could find. I’d love to have a journal similar to the picture you showed tho 😀

    • I would love it if you did! That would be amazing and an honor =) I find it very beneficial at times to work out my feelings in my journal but I just want so much to have a journal like Moll Flanders or something literary and enchanting lol The journal is beautiful there are so many beautiful journals and I love buying them but I worry about ruining them with my horrible hand-writing.

  2. Your words speak a lot about your life. 🙂 They are powerful, beautiful and show so much intelligence. If anyones journals will be published later on…it should be yours.

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