Dear Journal,

I'm sorry I've neglected you, but I've only recently come to my senses.
Again, I've been in a rut from which I cannot seem to find a way out of.
When I make a decision, it seems like all the reasons I have for coming to the decision in the first place are without substance.
I'm not sure if I can press onwards without extracting myself from this funk.
My older entries are helping me discover when I was happiest, illustrating the kinds of changes I need to make to get back on track.
They are also a sounding board for my expletives regarding how immature I was even five years ago.
Still, dear journal, I'm glad I have you. I need you, as a connection for my past self to lend counsel to my future self.
In this way, dear journal, your assistance helps past me show better regard for future me.
Not to mention writing your entries may improve future me's health (http://apt.rcpsych.org/content/11/5/338.full).

So, dear Journal, that I may look back over my words upon reaching the onrushing nebulous "future" in which I envisage myself every happiness, and also to jog my memory when necessary, I will detail what I am going to do with you:

1. I will journal on each day possible, following my evening meal.


2. When I do not wish to journal, I will write a minimum of one sentence.


3. I will write about my day, as naturally and as in-depth as necessary to convey what happened.

You deserve this at least, journal. For many years you have been a long-neglected passion, and recently when I needed you, you displayed your value by showing me as much of myself as I'd pealed off to you. Far from being my notepad, my wall, my stream, my publication, or my web-space. You're my journal, and I appreciate your continuance more than these meagre words can adequately express.