I keep a journal. Yep. My brother got me a really nice fountain pen and a nice journal for my birthday as he works for a childhood friend of his who now owns a company that sells pens inks and media in which to write on.
It's neat and fun and it encourages me to think and spill my mind onto paper, which for me is more enjoyable than on a keyboard. And it's easier to clean up, I mean have you ever tried to clean a keyboard? Those pressurized air cans don't work at all.
Here is an excerpt from my journal that I wrote today. On the triviality of words:
I don't love myself, yet I don't hate myself either. At what point does acceptance become arrogance? Lines are blurry with most things in life and scientific explanation. Everything is relative and there is a continuum for all dichotomies. At what point exactly does like become love and dislike become hate? We use words all day everyday but when you really think about it hard it is really weird. We create words and we create the meanings for these words. Do other species even come close to the feelings we feel, regardless of the combination of letters that we came up with that make a sound that we decided it should make? huh? Language... wtf.