I found a cool site thanks to Stumble Upon, my new-favorite source of time suckage*. It's called FutureMe.org, and it's nothing more than an email form that collects words you write, to someone else, I suppose, but mainly to oneself, and sends them to that person in the future. (The default is set to one year.)
This is pretty much what journals are all about, at least to me. I knew as I wrote them that even though they provided an excellent place for brain (and heart, and psyche) dump, they were mainly a map of me. From time to time, when I'm feeling particularly brave and strong, I'll pull out an old journal from college or my early 20's or, who am I kidding?, my late 30's and early 40's and cringe and cringe and cringe...and then I'll spot something that saves me: some glimmer of insight or truth that runs through from the pure me to the me-currently-enmired in crap to, hopefully, the future me who will finally be beyond all this petty nonsense. (Although I will not be wearing any motherfucking purple, straight up.)**
I don't write much in a journal anymore; after a year and a half of this, it'd feel like a busman's holiday.
Then again, I don't need to look too far to find Colleen of the Past anymore. Just an inch or so to the right.
xxx c *Thanks, Bon...for NOTHING!!! Sigh...
**UPDATE (8/27/12): Except for my purple sweater, my purple sweater I had before that, my purple shirt, and my purple scarf. And so it goes.
Photo of monkeyed-with scene from a great Honeymooners episode via Schrom.com