Today closes the pages, 169 of them, written over the last 122 days since April 1 when I began this pandemic journal, wondering if I'd survive.
I've never been disciplined enough to maintain a daily diary, though I'm pretty good on journals of trips and so forth.
But this was different. I missed only one day, and obviously wrote more some days, especially earlier, than others.
It wasn't political, but personal reflections and facts--like the mother Robin nesting outside our window for a while. During the days of self quarantine because of possible exposure, I recorded my temperature every day.
Later, I started keeping daily temperatures, and my weight, and records of books read and paintings painted. I thought about Star Trek: "Captain's log...."
When I started, I wrote only on one side of the pages, but soon switched to both sides. By yesterday, I'd taken up all the pages, so July 31, page 169, is on the reverse side of the beginning page, April 1.
The value? It gave me a morning routine, and as I go back and read, it brings memories back.
Will I continue? Don't know. It's sort of like doing my daily stretches. I may miss it. We'll see.