It's a Sickness. Like Anorexia. Well, Kind Of.

my mother has this weird mental sickness about her hair. even though she has fabulous hair, she thinks it's dull and flat. emphasis on the flat. she will buy any product that promises her more volume, and then swear it doesn't really work. trust me when i say she doesn't need these products as her hair has awesome natural body. she doesn't see it. maybe it's because she's a product of the 60's and bouffant hairstyles, who knows? but just like an anorexic can weigh 67 pounds and still see a fat person in the mirror, my mother still sees flat listless hair even though it's bouncing around her shoulders with life.

i have a sickness too. it has to do with journals.

i collect them like it's my job. blank journals, with smooth lined pages and pretty covers... i can't resist them. there's something about all that potential, all those blank slates waiting to be filled with hopes or dreams or lists or creative thoughts. the problem with this is that i almost never use them. for anything. i make lists all the time, but beautifully bound journals are too lovely to waste on something i need for a few hours then can be thrown away. i don't keep a diary (that's what blogger is for), i rarely - if ever - journal, i do my creative writing mostly on computer, and i have at least 12 - 14 of these hanging around somewhere. oh, sometimes they get repurposed, as a gift, or if one of my teens needs encouragement to write down their thoughts somewhere.... but mostly? mostly i just seem to collect them. i had actually been doing quite well lately, largely due to the fact that i'd been poor... but i relapsed today. i bought a pretty journal with a raised design from a tiffany lamp, with a small magnetic strap that wraps from back to front to keep it closed. (i'm a sucker for Special Features.) it's really pretty. and i'm going to put it to use. probably tonight.

as soon as i figure out what to use it for...