...2011’s Journal is archived, a year’s worth of living shelved on the head of a pin. I probably should have printed a hard copy. But god, the paper and ink. Screw it. As if some post-Armageddon, cockroach-eating dreg, wearing my thumb drive in his left earlobe would be elated to discover a printed copy of last year’s three hundred and sixty-five days of whiny cynicism.
Anyway. Time to start afresh.
In years past, I have contemplated going old school and replacing my retired, Microsoft journal with something leather-bound and acid free. I deluded myself with visions of Craftsman script and borders, inked thick with honeysuckle vines and wide-eyed peepers. I have seven such traditional journals, with three pages rendered exactly thus. All are in a box in the attic.
Hi, my name is Steven, and I’m addicted to spell-check and one-click synonyms—so what.
This year, I have no such hand-penned inclinations. This year, I’m keeping it simple. I’m just going to write. Like I used to. Goofy, stupid, sad, poetry, prose. Everything. And all of it goes to the blog. Yes! Yes!
Oh my god. Did I just make a resolution?
I’m so cliché.