"Still as a Bunch of Crap, I Imagine"

I've been keeping a daily journal pretty consistently for over 25 years. I've accumulated many notebooks over that time. I don't have the room or the inclination to keep them all. So periodically I read through some old journals, save what I think is interesting or important and toss the rest.

In the past few weeks, I've re-read about 12 notebooks. Some were regular-day-to-day entries, some were written on trips, one was a small journal that I tucked into my pocketbook for train trips to New York City. 

The title of this post is the last line dated July 22, 2010 in one of those journals. I was speculating how the journal would read years later. I was right.

My journals are modeled after morning pages, and morning pages aren't supposed to be art. There's nothing wrong with throwing them away.  I've threw away most of mine.

This time around, I decided to keep only three of the journals: chronicling trips to Phoenix, Portland and Tuscon, Bisbee and Tombstone.

I had hoped for more.