i started writing (real writing that features mood and stream of consciousness and the usage of pens) 12 years ago. everything within these notebooks consist of jottings and scribbles recorded (mostly*) everyday. it's more of a singular collection (featuring the life and times of me) that is ever expanding. this easily makes the top three of the greatest accomplishments in my life (despite the fact it has nothing to do with the world and i doubt the rest of the world would be into it). writing is the one of the consistent habits i have (i suppose the other main ones would be oral and general hygiene).
i've filled about eighteen notebooks; i lost one in milan and some of them have left over pages, but there's eighteen that i have to glance at and laugh at when retrospecting my naivete. the smaller, thinner moleskine ones are extensions to the main, larger notebook designated for the year (i have a tendency to write too much or too big or my drawings begin to take up more space). i'll be damned if i know how many words i've handwritten over the past decade and two years. let's just say it's many. many, many words. (*=there is tremendous gap in entries from late 2008-mid 2009...that time frame is a void of events, thoughts, people).
i detest hearing these called 'diaries' or 'journals'. it's not like they aren't, in a broad sense; it sounds so juvenile. the content of these things are anything but. i would say these are recordings. i'm starting a new one today after having debated with myself if i should. it seemed best to continue the tradition as it keeps track of my life, helps me to remember, and is the only thing that keeps me going (i was about to say this keeps me sane...perhaps it does. it's cathartic, at least).