I have put date labels on more of my old journals, again rereading only when necessary to identify the year. This batch was easier than the previous because I was had consistent about putting the full date on the first entry in most of them (not all). I stopped after half a dozen because I was making scribal errors (1 for 9, - for / in this case), paced a little, and then realized "I'm waiting for something with an unknown time, about which I can do nothing*. Of course I'm antsy." I'm not good at waiting in general, and not knowing how long makes it worse.

I'd been thinking that I was putting a lot less in the paper journals because much of it is going here, but now I'm wondering if I was recording more detail. A piece of that may be more travel, or rather more varied/new-to-me travel. (I used a separate notebook for my first trip to England, for my mother's wedding, and one for the 1995 Scottish Worldcon, but I think part of the motivation there was worry about losing a half-filled journal.)

I didn't do a gym post Thursday, but I did go to the gym. I did a few minutes of cardio, and then a bunch of stuff with Emilie. Apparently chatting about how people deal with earthquakes stopped the muscles at the back of my head and neck from tensing up during ab work. I also did well on the balance things, and my knees felt better after the workout than they had on the way from work to the N train, despite four flights of stairs, squats, and calf raises.

*Or, rather, anything I need to do before the storm, anything useful I can sensibly do connected to it, I have already done.

My beloved adrian_turtle just called, because she thought I could use a friendly voice and some reassurance. She was right. Among other things, she pointed out that even if I find the notebooks in question, they may not contain the information I'm looking for.

She also reminded me that if I decide to go look for them, I don't have to do it right now: it's reasonable to find the idea scary, and there's nothing that's about to happen, or needs to be done, that means it can't wait.

I've kept a paper journal, in various ways, since I was in high school. Generally, I finish a book, put it on the shelf, and go on to the next, rarely looking at the old material: whatever needs it's filling seem to be satisfied by the writing.

This morning I was looking for some of my very old journals, and couldn't find them. I found the very first, which was a bit too early and ended with the note "Continued in next book." The notebook next to it was from several years later, and then the ones following on were of the same physical style, and apparently in chronological order.

I am now considering opening some boxes that have been sitting in the foyer since we moved in here, to see if they contain what I'm looking for. Alternatively, I can rummage through those memories without the paper that might add to, confirm, or contradict what I remember. In some ways that feels safer.

[Comments on this entry screened, because the topic is somewhat fraught and I may not be up to dealing with certain topics in comment threads.]