Admit it. You get them too. It's that nervousness you feel when you open a new, unmarred journal. It engulfs you. Makes your heartbeat quicken. It's that hesitation to take pen/pencil/marker/paint to it the first time.
There is something so beautiful about a blank book. A promise just waiting to be fulfilled. Dreams that are yet to be dreamed. Creations lurking within each page.
I have been toting a blank journal in my purse for a couple of weeks now. Almost had a coronary when my oldest asked if she could rip a page out of it. GASP!!! For a shopping list! Oh the horror that was.
This is my antagonizer.
Why have I been carrying this wonderful blank book around? Why have I been torturing myself by occasionally flipping through the pristine, promise laden pages?
I don't know.
What is holding me back from USING this wonderful little journal that spoke to me enough to make me possess it?
I don't know.
Do you?



























