Once upon a time, when Yours Truly was a much smaller bit of miscellany, she became enchanted with the notion of keeping a diary.
And lo, one Christmas morning there it was, complete with lock and teeny-weeny key, and a page for each day of the year. Every one of them.
Every single one.
Had Miss Miscellanea been a different sort of child, she may well have filled those pages calmly and diligently each day, with thoughts and reflections suitable to her age, and taking up exactly the same amount of space on the page, day after day. But alas, she was not that kind of child.
Then, as now, she sometimes had a great deal to say, and at others very little at all, but the parameters provided by the diary would not allow for this. And she was not — yet — the type of person who would feel comfortable (nay, rejoice!) in lining through an upcoming date to give herself more room to write (what if she needed that space for an unexpected excitement? And of course going back to an earlier, unused page was unthinkable).
No, it was somehow important to her that each of those identically-sized pages bear a true report of that very day’s occurrences. The result of this concern was page upon page of entries reading “Not much happened today,” generally penned in one sitting long after the fact.
On those occasions when she did, in fact, have something to air out, the intervening entries might be further reduced, to page upon page of “Ditto yesterday,” as though the many days between the few significant events would not have occurred at all without this token and ignoble acknowledgement.
The discovery of a “blank book,” a junior-high language arts assignment, was a revelation. No dates! Not even lines! A beautifully bound, hardcover book, all ready to be filled, a line or a paragraph or several pages at a time, as current activity warranted. A life-changing discovery.
Now, here we are, these many (many) years later, facing the digital approximation of those early volumes. No longer tormented by a an indelibly dated page — and having given up her addiction to daily posts and the weird pleasure that derives from seeing all those hyperlinks lit up in the calendar archives — Misc. Jones celebrates the virtual return of the blank book.
Still, some days a great deal to say, others very little at all, but all offered in hopes that something will eventually emerge and take shape, free of constraints and that teeny-weeny key.