There are those out there that keep exquisite journals. Artwork. Clippings. Hugely creative doodles. These things get shown in national magazines.
I infrequently buy journals. I love paper. I love blank paper. I love a fresh book. I just don’t know how to properly deal with these things.
Now, if I buy a journal, I make sure it is quite small with few pages. That way, if I get a third of the way through, I can feel some sort of accomplishment.
I put little sketches in them. Mostly designs. I cannot “draw,” so no portraits or still lifes for me. So a page of multi-sized dots may be the extent of my drawing. Often I will write a pithy thought or perhaps an excruciating line about my mother’s death. How about a short list of names I will never be called? Or a list of my five (at the moment) favorite words?
I am now taking an on-line creativity course. I am supposed to write down my dreams. I am supposed to write down my fears. I HATE writing this kind of stuff down. It makes me feel like a dweeb and I already feel like a dweeb, that’s why I’m taking this course. I’m searching for a way to creatively leave my dweebiness behind.
In picking up a journal to do a writing exercise I don’t want to do, I flip though a few scribbled pages, among many blank ones. One page simply has a single word. And this word makes me laugh hysterically.
What a fantastic place that would be! A city. A metropolis. Where one could actually be a hermit. Beautiful little apartments lined with books. Coffeehouses where hermits could infrequently meet or sit by themselves, lined with books, of course. Narrow little book-lined townhouses. Doors open on occasion to admit one’s closest friends. Little shops. Movie houses. Bistros. And then quickly home. Ahhhh, hermitopolis.
I’m not sure why I chose to write that one word down. No doubt I was feeling hermity. I feel that quite often. But I’m thinking I would like to live in hermitopolis. I’m sure it would not be a bad, cold, unfeeling place. Hermits care about others. They just prefer to peek through the curtains at what is going on in the street. If they even bother with peeking through the curtains. Perhaps they are damn jolly just working on a puzzle, doing some research, or perhaps having a delightful and saucy evening with another hermit of choice.
Tonight my daughter is going to a sleepover at 6:00. The hubby is trying to plan the perfect evening out. Dinner? A movie? A band? All three or just a combination? I don’t know. It’s cold. Snow is on the ground. I’m thinking of a cozy little restaurant. One with a fireplace. One populated with several other hermits having a rare night out. Then back home to do the hermit thing. Sounds good to me.