but it's just a regular Moleskine sketchbook (with horrible gray paper in it), and it's not the only journal I'm working in - and they're all serving the exact purpose that I need. They're holding my life. The feelings that I need to feel - I feel them in my journals. Sometimes with words, sometimes with drawings, sometimes just with colors. Often, I paint over and over and over and over a page because it's not conveying what I need it to anymore. It did yesterday, now it doesn't. Time to give it another layer. Nothing is permanent in these journals. Nothing. I can have this entire spread neon pink in less than a minute. But the words I needed it to hold are still there. Being held. The stuff I needed to get out of my head, I got it out. It's all valid. It's all me. It's all working.