Why am I blogging? ...I dunno.
I mean, if we're being totally honest (and why not?), I have no idea. It was something between an irresistible urge and a snap decision that brought me here.
I'm a journaler. (Is that a word? No? I'm making it a word. Take that, Webster, you uppity fuck.) I've always kept a sporadic but emotionally fueled record of my life. Tiny snippets of memories; some preserved in beautiful leather-bound journals, others scattered in yellowing spiral notebooks, and more still, scrawled on napkins, glued onto scrap pages, stuffed in the folds of my favorite books - places I'm sure to return, so that I may find these precious memories and relive them again.
And I do. I love to find old entries and take a peek into the mind of the younger, less experienced, less jaded version of Aleigh. Often, I find myself feeling the same emotions, reacting the same way to the memory, and I know that I have always been inherently me. Other times, I find myself perplexed at my previous feelings and I have a good laugh at my immaturity or bask in a moment of pride at how far I've come.
Sometimes heart-wrenching, sometimes hilarious, often volatile, these letters from my past-self help me remember, give me perspective, and prove that I was, in fact, alive, on this-or-that date in some lost year of time. Because these scraps of paper form a record of a life that is flying past like so many birds on the wind.
So...I suppose, if I were to listen to myself, I'm blogging to remember.
Aleigh out.
