sigh again

my journal keeps getting messier for the efforts to jump the rewrite hurdle. methinks i will need to borrow stephen king's office staff to clear that hurdle. even with other writings inspired on collegiate guidance, my attempts to edit and rewrite my work fall into muddy chaos. the many trees sacrificed to my hyper-graphia have produced far more trash than works of art.

at present, my therapy journal is scattered across god knows what and where. i respect rock and sand art. there are parts of my therapy jounal written on foreign shores. still, i miss the congruity i felt from carrying my spiral notebooks. i have been trying to reestablish that habit, but i keep losing the notebooks in household clutter. those efforts are scattered across uncounted notebooks. from the therapy end, i gain the same cathartic value from whatever medium is handy. writing ^it^ out in sand and rock is as effective as the next page of my 100,000 page collection. it plays hell on the therapy exercise of using my journal to track my self-gaslighting psychosis, but? ? ? there is more than one way to run reality checks.

on this particular strictly personal evolution, digital journal-keeping still feels more like blogging than therapy.