Purple swirly journal - Free flow/chain of thought/word vomit. Black journal - depressing shit that I need to exorcise from my brain. Brown earthy looking journal - workouts and feelings associated with working out. There's more, but you get the idea without me divulging more into the insane way my brain works.
Writing for me is like breathing. It just happens. It's necessary for my well-being. I started my first diary when I was 5 years old (and believe me, some of the things in it are HILARIOUS, one posting in its entirety says, "Autumn borrowed a pencil, she is my whole friend. Meghan called me on the phone, she is my whole friend, but Holly only wrote me a note, she is my half friend. She can try to be my whole friend tomorrow." I'll have to get a whole post of just 5-9 year old Caitlin sayings... she was a real snarky bitch, not that much has changed. Wait... I digress).
My point here is that writing (and life for that matter) is about maintaining a balance. The words I put on paper, although laced for a sarcastic tone for all things I randomly deem unfit, should also show that I understand both sides of the story. I love the city, and I would move into an art gallery if they would let me, but I also grew up on a farm, where my closest neighbors were nearly a mile away. I've put in my fair share of time on a tractor putting up hay bales and in turkey houses washing water pans and picking up dead birds.
I always hope that I can have the mental capacity to find a place for balance, not just limiting myself to my own clouded point of view. So, I'm putting this picture here as a reminder. Just as much as I call my sanctuary the history museum in downtown Raleigh, I love every second I spend in this old antique shop on some back country road in the middle of no where in Chinquapin, N.C.Now off to a full day of meetings at the LGBT Center, then working until closing at the Bee.
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