Journals

Last week I bought a new journal. This may not seem like a hugely momentous occasion, but you see, I haven't had a journal in a really long time. The last journal I had was unlined, and that bothered me more than I would admit. I refused to get a new one until this one was filled.
The one before that was cheap and the pages kept falling out.
I got out of the habit of carrying one around with me. Sometimes I would make journal entries in my writing notebook, but it's been harder to keep track of things in that mess lately.
So I finally bought perfect new one (screw those empty pages on the last one. They mock me), soft and pretty, covered in green flowered fabric with a leather tie to close it.
My freshman year of college, I started a brand-new journal on the first day I arrived there, and finished the last page the night before I left. I love having that account of my first year away from home, and I can tell you what I did almost every single weekend that year by referring to it. I wish I had more of that for my time in New York and now San Francisco.
One of the biggest reasons I decided to start journaling again was because of all the people I'm meeting. I have a huge volume of people moving through my life, and I'm sure I won't remember a lot of them in a few years. Which is sad because they're interesting.
I think of this as refilling the well. If I write about people I've met, and about my dreams--which are intense--I will always have something to write about when I sit down. It's a good feeling.