Journaling is one of those things in life I wanted to have done. It’s not anything I ever really wanted to do.
I have romantic visions of leather-bound books–one per year. Each is filled with beautiful calligraphy documenting my deepest thoughts day by day. Generations from now, my descendants will find them in hermetically sealed bookcase, peel back the acid-free paper wrapping and wonder what kind of an ass wasted so much time and energy doing this. Continue reading “Why Journaling Sucks”