I am a careless recorder of days, and I hold it against myself. I love to think that this journal will be the ideal, the perfect, messy-yet-delightful, and consistent record of this time in my life. Instead it is a collection of to-do lists, half-finished poems, and Yarrow’s own writing that can entirely obscure what I’ve put under it. But I do love my journals, even as they disappoint me. Journaling is an art, and not one I’m particularly good at, but one I love.
|Seth would probably like you to know that this is NOT his photo|