my n-th journal is all filled up, and reading through it i wonder that maybe all this chaos in my head could be passed of as sanity. it took from the 7th of May 2009 to the 3rd of Feb 2010. my joural started with "i want to do something dangerous, just to feel some sort of life in my bones" and ended with " and i've had two dreams back to back about the apocalypse through tsunamis. I wonder what that means. I dont wake up scared, just unsettled."
i have a love/hate relationship with my journals. when i read through them i cringe and still smile. its the rawest i will get, no frills and flounces. no fancy words, no trying to impress, no literary value AT ALL. just straight out words tumbling from my head without the million edits i make where people can see me. so plain and simple and boring that all the insanity i write with somehow gets nullified with so much obscure normality.
i feel wide eyed and bushy tailed, younger than i am. so much to know, so much to learn, so much to see, and so much more in store.
reading through the million and five words i have written all my life, i realise how comfortably insignificant i am, how naiive i am, and how, though i might be a little screwy in the head, i'm far from insane.
all this chaos this easily passes of as sane.
I finally feel like im living.
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