Word Excavation

In certain circles there have been discussions around whether folk go back and read old journals and how they feel about it. As a lifelong serial diary-starter who desperately wanted to be an everyday diary writer but could never manage more than a couple of days straight I have very few journal entries to look back on. I did manage to do two journals worth of morning pages when I was reading The Artist's Way (links to Amazon.com so you can take a look inside the book) by Julia Cameron and when I re-read those entries I'm struck by how repetitive they were ... a typical entry went something along the lines of: It's still dark; I nearly didn't get up this morning; I can't believe I've managed to get up early for x days/weeks; The cats are being a nuisance; Now one of them has snuggled up on my journal and I'm writing around it; My throat is a bit sore this morning, I hope I'm not coming down with something; I don't know what to write; It's getting lighter earlier every morning now. ... Or words to that effect anyway. I felt disappointed when I got to the end of Artist's Way and realised that there was no end and that the idea was to continue with the morning pages indefinitely. Heck I might start them up again at some point but for now I'm having too much fun with my art - any mention of regular writing slots and my rebellious streak starts acting up and getting in the way.
One thing I love looking through are the small notebooks I often chuck into my bag when I'm off on a night out or have by the side of my bed for those pesky sleep-time visitors that scamper round my head until I write them down. I'm always pleasantly surprised by what I've written and usually can't remember the words coming from me at all. Here's an example of something I scribbled in a notebook on 28/2/2003:

Dressed in dreams
Moved to tears
Smiling pockets
Escalating schemes
Tired excuses
Surrounding me
Desperate dances
Chasing words
Born performer
Stealing lies
Elasticated truth
Drenched in you

I have no idea what inspired that flood of words ... was I drunk, bored or just hit round the head with some inspiration? I'll never know why or how I wrote those words but they still speak to me in their strange offbeat way.

If you liked those words in the slightest then promise me you'll visit this special person who I greatly admire for her words and paintings and who inspired me to post the poem in this entry ... but hey don't blame me if you look up again and find it's next week cuz it's that kind of place.