The Last 12~ Years

So I’ve decided to attempt a task. I’m going to ATTEMPT to type my journals up. I’ve always thought it to be cool to have an organized canon of events. Like comic book mythos. I’ve always wanted to have just everything I’ve written, and every idea I’ve had organized some place. Almost like mapping the human genome I guess.

There are very little words for how daunting it is, so I will use pictures and brief book reports. The things that scare me:

  • How much of my time will be spent going back in time, navigating the corniest corridors of my experience?
  • How much of my work will be spent moving forward while I do this? Beyond my journals and records, how much of my work with ACTUALLY be creative?
  • Why am I doing this?
  • What happens when I finish? Do I just live the rest of my life? You know, when I started (technically age 3, truthfully age 11) I thought it might be a good idea to start typing this shit up, but then I got lazy. Probably distracted by a candy bar.

The notebooks:


  • A note, these aren’t even all of my notebooks. Just the ones where I kept my major storyarcs.
  • You can actually see from the covers how I evolved from a sincere and sweet preteen to the blank, hollow, husk of a life form that I am today. There are no sticker on the white book. SYMBOLISM.






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