(Notes on journaling)

by Marisa Siegel

Always kept a diary until it became too complicated to write down. Before I moved to California, I threw all of my old journals in the dumpster. Purge and be rid of. Maybe there were eight. I used to name each one, so that I was writing to Dear _____.

Tried in January 2011 to start again. (Tried yesterday to start again.) It’s not the complicated that gets me tangled, it’s about trusting the lines on the page to mark appropriately. I’m too precious with it.

The footnotes: also from their respective entries. Not italicized because I am paying more attention.

Those eight tossed-out-6-years-ago, named-and-filled books are just shadows, paper ghosts in blue and black ink filing in line with all the other ghosts, paper and otherwise. I’m too haunted by it.

And the end result, yesterday, is not about context. No further explanations or divulging of details pending.