My problem is …

I am a great time waste … I get so sucked up in my head thinking that I rarely write what I am thinking anymore. I end up thinking … what do I have to say that is worth anything? My like is pretty boring and routine, nothing motivating, life changing or special. I have to step back sometimes and remind myself why I began writing in the first place …… because I feared forgetting, or missing the moment or passing thoughts in my life. I remember the first time I started writing for that reason was when I was about 8 years old. My mother had bought me this little backpack that looked like a teddy bear. It hung off my curtain rod and I would lay in bed thinking and staring at it. I use to write on little scraps of paper tidbits about me, or how I hated this or that, and I would fold them into tiny squares and put them in the bears belly. I never had a “diary”, just a bear … I guess I was a strange little girl. I always felt that if someone was to read all of these little passages they would come to truly understand me, but I never allowed anyone to read them and only a few knew of there existence. I kept this up until I moved away from home at 17.

Much later around 1999/2000 I began a journal physical journal, and then in 2001 a on-line journal that I have kept up sporadically, but there was noting like my first.

I can’t find any clear pictures of the bear, but if you look closely at the top of this one you can see the bottom of him in between the Janis Joplin poster and wall hanging/curtain.