Wow, I thought I’d never fill this journal and I was determined to fill every page. I could not abide all that wasted paper. Somehow it was due to length of all the sections. I try to compartmentalize things by subject matter but I had no clear idea of how I wanted to divide them up, hence, when I’ve finished with one idea there was all this wasted leftover paper. That’s why, to follow the chronology of October and November I had to skip around. I kept running out of paper. I’m not always so scattered, the order looks worse than it actually is. It’s an order, all right. The order just is not linear. It was set up by the constraints of this journal that resisted filling. Tightwad that I am, I won’t buy another until this one is filled. Part of my resistance to writing is that John turns every little thing into writing. Sometimes I find it infuriating. Nothing is sacred. I was awakened at night, early dawn with his fierce scribbling. He can’t write quietly. He nearly punctures the page with his steel tipped pen. I won’t let him use my delicate felt tips anymore because he destroys them. But I guess that’s a thing of the past now. All things must come to an end like this section of the journal, adieu.
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