As a young girl, I used to faithfully keep a journal. It brought me joy to fill its pages with my ramblings, doodles and stories. There is a stack of journals, tucked away in a tote in our garage, brimming with over a decade’s worth of musings. I would gladly still keep one if it weren’t for my hands. I cannot keep up with how many words I want to pour out onto the pages, and my hand will cramp up, hurting terribly and prompting an abrupt end to whatever thought I was penning.
I think that is largely why I turned to blogging. I can get out my thoughts faster and without my hands suffering the same fate. I was just bemoaning the fact this is the case after midnight, when I went to jot a little note in the journals I keep for my kids to document the fact it is 2-22-22. I finished my son’s small entry but got sloppy and ended my daughter’s a tad abruptly for my taste. Still, I hope they appreciate looking back on my efforts, as sparse as they have been lately. Maybe there is some sort of exercises I can do for my hands to help this problem, but for now I am grateful to have this outlet. Hopefully, inspiration will strike again soon and I can post something a little more substantial next time.
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