Dear Diary...

[my inner-workings, in paper form]

Keeping a journal is one of those things that our society tends to make fun of- the idea seems to be that those who are actually living life don't have time to sit around and write about it. That journaling is for fifteen-year-old girls sitting around on their pink bedspreads in head gear and acne cream lamenting about how the popular boy made fun of them in the cafeteria. Or that keeping track of one's life in writing is narcissistic, or at best unnecessary.

I've been keeping a journal since my seventh birthday. I know I've probably mentioned it hear or there in passing, but I have to admit to being a tad bit, well, embarassed, of it. Shame no more.

My aunt sent me my first journal for my seventh birthday, complete with combination lock. It took my a couple of years to write through the entire thing, and many of the entries were angry ones, directed at my sister for "getting me in trouble," my mom for making me do too many chores, or a silly crush on a boy in school. My entries were very inconsistent from ages seven to about twelve, but then I started writing more regularly, probably because this marked the time where my dad's bipolar disease was out of control, his suicide following shortly thereafter. Oh, and I finally got my first boyfriend (obviously because I stopped wearing my glasses all the time and spent my allowance on Pantene Pro-V shampoo). Since then I've been more or less consistent (maybe one to four times a week), although there are some serious gaps, especially in college.

[after this first one they were known as "journals"- diaries are lame]

I never go back and reread old entries- it's pretty uncomfortable. I do love the process of selecting new journals to write in, once I've completed one. During my youth most of them are obviously very cheap and brightly colored, while in the past few years I've been willing to shell out a bit more for more "mature," understated ones. Lines are a must, as blank pages result in crooked writing and graph paper is just weird. I have yet to decide what I want done with them when I die. There will probably be too many to put in my casket with me, so I'll probably have to have them burnt in the huge chest I will one day buy to store them all. 

I've been very lucky that I've had no horrifying stories about people finding my journals, and that I live with a man who respects my privacy so much that I can leave them out in the open and he won't touch snoop, not that I generally do (he even has Kurt Cobain's journals that were published and refuses to read them, saying it's an invasion of privacy). When I lived with roommates I made sure they were hidden, usually folded up in sweaters, in shoe boxes, or tucked in the back of messy drawers. From what I know, they've remained for my eyes only.

The big question is why, I'm sure. The simple answer- therapy is way too expensive and time-consuming. The long answer is that over the years some shit (both life-changing and in retrospect trivial) has gone down and I haven't wanted to burden people with my problems, so I've turned to writing instead (seldom are the pages of my journals filled with happy, mundane things).  Putting things down on a page allows me to organize my thoughts and find solutions- it's incredibly cathartic. I feel better after even fifteen minutes of writing and it forces me to look at what's happening in life through a different lens, as opposed to sitting around letting my thoughts chase one another around in my head. 

And I'm not the only one who feels this way. Many famous people and successful writers have kept logs of their life. Take Virginia Woolf, Joan Didion, Dave Sedaris (he's been writing every morning for over thirty years), Jonathan Franzen, CS Lewis, Anne Frank, and Frida Kahlo. Oh, and Doogie Howser. I'm in good company. 

Research shows that journaling has major psychological benefits (so, basically, I'd be even more fucked up if I didn't do it). Apparently writing can strengthen brain cell connections, reduce stress by making you come to terms with problems, and help you be happier if you make an effort to include some good things on occasion. It can also help improve your memory.

So, there you have it- I'm one of those people. Judge away.

Have you ever dabbled in journal writing?

Top Ten Tuesday- By Swoon I Mean Laugh

Today's Top Ten Tuesday from The Broke and the Bookish asks us what books make us swoon- I just can't. Nothing makes me swoon, except maybe a bare-chested firefighter playing with a baby and a puppy simultaneously, and that's not even a done deal. I don't even like the word swoon. I do like to laugh, though, and I appreciate well-written books that crack me up. Here are ten of my favorites:

1. How I Became a Famous Novelist by Steve Hely- His narrator spells out the formula for how to make it big as a writer, throwing in some competition thinly masked as Nicholas Sparks and John Grisham.

2. Family Fang by Kevin Wilson- This family of performance must once again reunite.

3. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller- The book is just completely outlandish, whether criticizing bureaucracy, describing women, or explaining how to get extended leave in hospital care. 

4. The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine by Alina Bronsky- The narrator, Russian Rosa, is outraged when her daughter ends up pregnant. She ends up loving her granddaughter and desperately wants to get the three of them out of the Soviet Union. 

5. Beat the Reaper by Josh Bazell- A hitman for the mob pretends to be a doctor.

6. Nick Hornby- It was hard to narrow it down to just one, but his dry British humor is great. I'm definitely partial to How to Be Good, which handles religion.

7. Tom Perrotta- Another author that I find in generally humorous, from Election to even his most recent, The Leftovers.

8. Gary Shteyngart- The Russian Debutante's Handbook, Absurdistan, and Super Sad Love Story are equally hilarious.

9. Flimsy Little Plastic Miracles by Ron Currie Jr.- A writer travels to a small island in the Caribbean to get over (and write about) the woman he loves.

10. Tobacco Road by Erksine Caldwell- I remember reading this in college and being floored by how crass it was for the time period for which is was written.

Reading Globally

[January books and one from February; Source: 2014 Books Read Map via Zee Maps]

Towards the end of last year I started wishing that I had kept some sort of geographical log of where each book I had read was set, curious to see how globally I had read. The blog Whispers of a Barefoot Medical Student did a post at the end of the year about creating one in Google Maps (I think) and I was seriously jealous of her record- I knew I had to start in January so that I wouldn't have to do it all come December 2014. 

Last night I started looking for an app that would let you create a simple map of pins or tags of places you've traveled- I'd just sub in the setting of the book. Unfortunately, the "simple" part is easier said that done- most apps get into geotagging, check ins, photo labeling, network sharing, and seventeen million other options that were not working for me. 

I then started searching via my laptop for sites online and ran into Zee Maps, which didn't require I start an account, allowed me to simply pin locations with titles, and has options for notes, colors, etc... Each month I'll use a different color pin, just to see what the final spread is like. You can also pay to print the image (although after looking at the free print preview I'm not sure if I like the way it's set up).

I don't like that it requires you to have a specific address, at least for the detailed entry, so usually I scroll through the list of suggestions they give you based on the city and just pick somewhere that seems like a central location. It really doesn't matter, since I'm just using the map as an overall visual. The zoom in/out controls are a little wonky as well. I'm also not really sure about the company- they may disappear, along with my map, at any given time. They may also use the data, although I'm not terribly worried since this isn't really about my actual travels.

I have toyed with the idea of doing an actual physical map instead, numbering each book and just keep a log of what's where. But then it would just be one more piece of paper to hold onto, and the only thing I could really think of doing with it at the end would be posting it in my classroom for my students to look at or use. And I'm sure they would spend hours of their own time pouring over it (or not). I still may go this route, time permitting.

If you're interested in starting your own visit Zee Maps, and if you're dying to look at mine in detail, just follow this link. 

 

Bookish (and not so Bookish) Thoughts

Link up below (by the way, I try so, so hard to get over to all of your blogs to visit, but some weeks are insane... like last week)

1. I'm so excited to be taking part in another virtual book club through the Book Wheel. This time we're reading A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian by Marina Lewycka and I'm really enjoying it. Participating online in a much different experience than in-person; we read a section a week for a month and then discuss via comments on the blog. 

2. I generally wear a pedometer, but I borrowed my husband's Fitbit last weekend for fun. The steps were basically on par with what I was getting, but I really loved the sleep function. It tells you how many times you wake up during the night (usually three) and how long you're restless (one night almost an hour). The only drawback is that I'm not really into the sporty accessory look, but my obsessive nature and need for data might win over in the end. 

3. I figured out what I want my epitaph to say. Under my name and birth/death dates I want it to simple say, "She read good books." That is all. Nothing about being a wife, mom, sister, friend, teacher, etc... Just "She read good books." 

[source; yes, I plan on living to 100]

4. Speaking of dying, I've started researching life insurance a little bit, always a fun topic. When my dad died when I was in high school his policy was pretty meager and my mom was left with four kids, a mortgage, and all the other expenses life likes to doll out. If anything were to happen to my husband or I I'd like to be prepared so that we could at least take care of the mortgage. It's serious, but I really feel like it's important- my goal is to have it taken care of by the end of the year.

5. Heck yes for the new Broken Bells album coming out earlier this week.

6. I've come to the conclusion that I really just can't handle reading two books at once. I'm read the one I mentioned above and have started reading Things Fall Apart for work, and am failing miserably. I just can't juggle books like I do men. Kidding, kidding.

7. I had one of the best cupcakes ever recently at Sprinkles, which I actually don't think necessarily has the best ones in Southern California. Anyway, it was a chocolate chocolate-chip raspberry one for Valentines Day and it was amazing. 

8. Saturday I volunteered at the Surf City Marathon Expo for five and a half hours, handing out race bibs to runners. It was incredibly interesting being on the other side of things, and the people watching was top shelf. Take the man who came with his huge Persian cat on a leash. Or the eighty-four year old man picking up his packet. Or the guy who was in from Switzerland just to run. It did make me very eager to get back out there- I hope that it's my first half marathon back postpartum in a year.

9. Yesterday was my last day of IOCs (the IB tests that I've been doing 1:1 with the students) and I had a least four kids that were really sick. One I almost stopped mid-commentary to send home because I was afraid she was going to die. I appreciate the dedication, but now I'm pretty nervous that I'm going to end up sick- knock on wood. I went straight home after work yesterday, changed my clothes, drank a ton of water and orange juice, showered, and took a walk, all in the hopes that I'd scare away the germs with an abundance of healthiness. Fingers crossed. 

10. Everyone is so in love with the Facebook one-minute movie of their memories since joining, but I was pretty underwhelmed (not with my life... with the "movie"). You'd think that they could have at least gone for higher resolution of the pictures... 

Top Ten Tuesday- Cry Baby

My identity as crier is complicated. I cry during nearly episode of the wonderfully horrible Grey's Anatomy, bawl hysterically when I watch Follow that Bird (he turns blue! the symbolism has astounded me since childhood), and tear up whenever I think of my seniors abandoning me in a few months. There are certain people that know what buttons to press to get my going and I think I may have quietly shed a tear when we ran out of water hiking down from Half Dome a few years ago (I definitely hid that, though, with some grunted expletives). I guess I'm a bit of a closet crier. One thing that doesn't generally pull at my heart strings? Books. Strange, I know. As a part of The Broke and the Bookish's Top Ten Tuesday, here are a few exceptions:

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein: I have never cried more while reading than when I read this book- it's the animal factor. The night I knew I was going to finish it, I went outside with my book light and a box of Kleenex while my husband was playing video games and just went for it. It was incredibly cathartic and overwhelmingly sad. It's just so easy to transfer the emotions for Enzo on to my actual pets. And let's just say I'm glad the neighbors didn't see... it was pathetic.

Marley and Me by John Grogan: I read my old elementary students the young adult version of this book and had to focus very, very hard to not get started in front of them. The day I knew Marley's end was imminent I'd make sure to have a bottle of water with me to start sipping (it washes away those sobs that start building up in your throat) and would make sure to seek out a kid that was inevitably doing something wrong to scold at the height of the emotion. Some good old-fashioned discipline does wonders for sappiness. 

Charlotte's Web by EB White: I don't know if the beloved spider's death has every made me actually cry tears, but I still find it so very sad. I also hate the beginning, where Fern's dad implies that the poor tiny little piglet will be put down if it returns to the farm. 

A Map of the World by Jane Hamilton: I read this a really, really long time ago but remember just feeling down for much of it, as a woman must cope with the grief of her friend's daughter drowning under her care. To make matters worse, others accuse her of molestation and her husband ends up becoming involved with the friend whose daughter drowned. I didn't cry, but just felt so very depressed and sympathetic. 

Me Before You by JoJo Moyes: I didn't get my overly upset or anything while reading this, but I definitely did feel the end was quite sad.

White Oleander by Janet Fitch: This is another book I read over a decade ago but remember being incredibly moved by the sadness of the foster care system. 

That's all I've got! What makes you curl up in the fetal position and sob like a baby?