Meg Dowell Writes

Tragedy has struck my life.

As you may know (and if you don’t, then be ashamed!), my current journal weighs a ton. Well not really, but it’s huge. Probably somewhere between 350 and 400 pages all bound beautifully together. Add that weight to the weight of all of my schoolbooks, and we have an issue. Well, we didn’t about a week or so ago, but we do now.

I’m not going to lie–it’s an adorable giraffe-print bag that I love to pieces. The only downside is the leather straps. Slinging the thing over my shoulder is bad enough. Just this afternoon I figured out that one of the straps is actually about to tear because of the weight of my bag when it hangs from my right shoulder. My mom thinks the only solution to this problem is to STOP BRINGING MY JOURNAL TO SCHOOL.

Need I repeat myself? Good.

This truly is a sad day in the life of me. Where did I go wrong? I wonder to myself solemnly why I’m being punished for writing constantly in my sanctuary; my companion. Is this how God planned to cure me from my journal addiction all along? Making me wait all the way until school is over to fill its pages with my words of wisdom, and sometimes panic?

I’m going to go through withdrawal, I’m telling you! Severe, untreatable, painful withdrawal! I’ll lose my mind. I’ll lose my mind because all of the thoughts stored up there won’t have a place to go. They’ll find themselves trapped and tangled amongst algebra and physics and Spanish! They’ll feel suffocated and become frightened. No way to escape. They’ll run away, and they’ll take my sanity with them. They’ll never come back.

I feel like I need to resent someone for this.

Perhaps you don’t understand. Should I describe my day to you? Okay; if you wish.

I wrote in my journal between breakfast and the long journey to the bus stop. I wrote in my journal from the time I got to school at five after seven until seven thirty, when my first class began. I wrote in my journal before the bell beginning second period rang. Most of the class hadn’t finished their test from Friday, unlike me. So I wrote in my journal for fifty straight minutes, until that class was over. I wrote in my journal during creative writing. I wrote in my journal during lunch, and even for a bit during Spanish.

Do you see my dilemma? I may have a serious problem, but I wasn’t planning on fixing that any time soon. I’m still not. I guess I just have to decide which is more important; a pretty giraffe print bag to hold all of my books, or my bestest friend?

A young girl like me shouldn’t have to make these kinds of decisions. I need chocolate.