Upon rereading those entries, I would either have to tear out the pages, slam the book shut, or throw it away entirely. I have numerous tomes in which I have written on one page alone; when I looked back, I found that the few lines of idiocy tainted every blank page that followed.
I have mostly given up on any attempt to have a publishable journal, though I still cling to the concept of "worthwhile." The internet has been a puzzling tool in my attempt to assure myself of worth while divesting myself of the accompanying responsibility. For a while I attempted to separate the "meaningful" from the "meaningless," and had a separate journal for writing (never touched) and one that was just chock-full of quiz results and memes (and a pain in the ass to load). Remember that, hanatenshi ...? I subsequently decided the effort of keeping the two far apart was just too much (and keeping an eye on every journal I had on every journaling site was a little dull), and focused on this one.
Still, there's a dark corner of my heart that likes to put in my username and have something "relative" to me pop up. You have no idea how fluff-filled my journal would be if the memory of Anne Frank's diary did not haunt me still. I subsequently continue to exercise some restraint in posting. (I have just noticed that the term "fluff" has been appearing in my vocabulary with increasing frequency. I wonder why.)
There is nothing like watching a cat attempt to sprint across a smooth linoleum floor, run into a cabinet head first, bounce off, and start running again, only to hit another cabinet going in the other direction. It is like pinball or ping pong, but better, since it is fuzzy, demented and cute. I am still giggling about this. I was tempted to make an entire journal entry with that memory alone, and then something in my head told me it would be a waste of paper, and even if I could pad up those few seconds with some adjectives, you really had to be there.
A new icon of whoa. Beauty may not be a virtue I possess on a regular basis, but expressivity certainly is. It is humanly possible to make the faces I used to draw, this icon stands as proof. It also reminds me that as a youngun, I considered Jim Carrey my comedic hero.