My Jaded Journals

You can die a fast moving cancer and miss the chance, any chance, at anything, at everything . There's always another chance in life until you come to the end of it, and then you are out of chances.  

When life ends, your life, my life, it is so final. Death gives no second chances, at that, at this, at yesterday, at tomorrow, or, at pretty much anything and everything you ever could have thought, or done, or, perhaps, done differently.

So now, I laugh loud. I tell my new husband that I love him. I take those trips. I go for that long run, or walk. I eat that piece of dark chocolate (all by myself, but then I run, so it all works out). I don't mind any longer making mistakes for things I have done, regrets I can no longer undue.

I just don't ever want to have any further continued regret (as of today) for the things I didn't do, didn't say. 

 I have struggled with that notion, longer than you ever could have imagined.

I realize now that my journals are like marks on a growth chart. That I needed to go through certain phases in order to get better, that I still go through certain phases to become complete, the complete and complicated work that I am. That attempting to “cover my footprints” is unnecessary. But I’m still not immune to the urge to hide thoughts I’m not proud of anymore, things that have left me jaded and bewildered. 

Journals you write for your eyes only, not for an audience in mind.... so, as journals unwind through the intricate succession of the keys on my keyboard, I am reminded why they were even journals at all...........to get through thoughts, to somehow work them out, until under the pretence of black ink...they become irrefutable. So, covering my footprints is unnecessary,as journals are not meant for an audience, can be blunt, fearful, and damn well jaded!!!