Yep, that's me. Blogger Babe. Not as in, "Whoa, what a babe!" but rather, "Whoa, what a techno doofus!" I don't know much about blogging. If my eldest daughter (who also has her own blog, The White Way of Delight) hadn't set me up, I'd still be stuck at trying to embed my profile photo or set up some other crucial aspect of my blog. Thanks, darling daughter, for my very own bright, shiny, new blog.
I'm an old time journal keeper from the dark ages and have journaled for over thirty years. I save all my journals but I don't normally re-read them. I'm sure I would cringe to read my very self absorbed thoughts. If, in your generosity you assume I mean journals from my youth, you're sadly mistaken. I sometimes cringe if I happen to read what I wrote last week.
"What garbage!" I think. Who wrote this awful, meaningless junk? Oh yeah, heh heh, that would be me. On the other hand, journals are great at helping me remember events from days gone by. Things you never think you'd forget, like your youngest using the word bushkatuckered to express his exhaustion. What a cute word! I'd completely forgotten all about it until I ran across it in an old journal. I know, I know, it should be in his baby book right? Bwaahahahaha! His baby book is pathetic! He'll be on a counselor's couch someday with a serious case of Third Child Syndrome. Poor thing. He's only nine, it's not too late to fill in a few pages in his baby book, is it? Don't answer that!
So, I've got a few boxes full of old journals. I should take a few noteworthy excerpts from each and then burn the rest. There is so much incriminating evidence in those old books that should never see the light of day. Self centered ramblings, heartbreak from failed relationships, outrage over perceived injustices, rants against my (so-called) insensitive husband and many, many questions and tears for my Heavenly Father. It would be nothing like, say, Elisabeth Elliot's journals that would be uplifting and edifying with something meaningful for the average reader. My journals are more like a place I go to purge my emotional junk. My family is blessed because the trusty journal stands in as a filter between my boring, sometimes ridiculous, occasionally thoughtful musings and the (usually) rational me they find in the morning when they get up.
If you're suddenly stricken by the fear that I intend to toss my journal writing and dump all my junk on you poor unsuspecting blog readers instead, fear not. I might be a Blogger Babe but I'm not that crazy - most days.