Addings and Endings

First thing in the morning; I attack my journal.
I need to scribble everything down, all my anger and anxiety and embarrassment and worry.  I'm afraid.  I'm afraid because I'm too stupid for the world, because I'm too short and homely, because my future is a big blank peace of paper, because I'm not good enough or smart enough or pretty enough to survive in the acting world.

I write faster and faster, I'm on a roll, and just then I flip my journal over and I hit the back cover.  Right in mid sentence, my pen hovers over the dead end.  I didn't realize that that was the last page of my journal.
You may wonder why this is such a catastrophe.  Well, imagine that you're driving to Chick-fill-a and your starving and you see the sign in the distance and your so pumped for a chicken sandwich, just to get there and realize that it's Sunday.
Not only did my journal just while I was on a roll, but it also gave me a very lame ending.  Even if the middle of my journals are dirt, if it has a lovely opening and a lovely closing, then I feel satisfied before I tuck it away with the other Chronicles of my life.  But no.  This was the worst way to end a journal.  No redemption.  No hopeful comment.  Just some dumb rambling and complaining over some meaningless things.
I toss the journal and go scrounging about my basement like a scrappy ally cat, looking for a notebook.
I'm so angry at myself for not anticipating the journals end.  I was so busy worrying that I didn't bother to look ahead.

I think I got a glimpse of death.  No, no, I don't care that much about my journals, but isn't this kinda like how death works?

I recently watched the movie 'A Beautiful Mind' and one part in particular stuck with me.  When John is sitting there, and he asks what is there to do with his life.  And his wife answers that you can find anything to do, just add meaning.

When I come to the end of my journal, my life, I don't want to be worrying and complaining about all the things I listed above.
I have hands for writing.  Eye's for art.  A voice for people.
When people ask me what my dream car is, I reply, "Anything as long as it's simple, it takes me places, and has it's own weird look so I can find it in a parking lot."  Only recently have I figured out that I was describing me.
Careers.  Colleges.  Jobs.  Dreams.  Goals.  Hopes.  Adulting.  These things are kind of like the dream car I was talking about.  Passions, goals, they're your Tardis.  Your suit case.  You don't go anywhere without them.  But what's the point of a suit case if it's empty?  Because, friends, our journals are coming up on their last pages and we don't realize it.