Started reading—actually listening to—Susan Sontagas journals (64-80). Ebook wasn’t available—thinking if they were produced as photos of the pages I’de like to have them on my shelf—be able to see the handwriting and the way the words are laid out on the page.
Listening is a bit discombobulating because Sontag uses her journals the way I aim to: sometimes for diary-like confessions but mostly disjointed sentence fragments and words lists. She is thinking on the page. I, on the other hand, don’t journal enough. Too much shame. Shame at my messiness, my inanity, my handwriting, and very much ashamed at my spelling.
I’ve been running two concurrent journals for some time—one as a sort of commonplace book, the other a diary. I even assigned color to each. It seems silly now. Too many obstacles. Put it all in one. Think on the page.