A Borrowed Journal

The thought came over me: am I to spend all the best part of my life in this wretched bondage, forcibly suppressing my rage at the idleness, the apathy, and the hyperbolical & most asinine stupidity of those fat-headed oafs, and on compulsion assuming an air of kindness, patience & assiduity? Must I from day to day sit chained to this chair, prisoned with in these four bare walls, while these glorious summer suns are burning in heaven & the year is revolving in its richest glow & declaring at the close of every summer day that the time I am losing will never come again?

-Charlotte Brontë, 1836

I borrowed Charlotte's journal because her written words perfectly articulate how I feel. It's like we are sisters from different centuries. How reassuring is it to read that I am not crazy. Or, maybe we both are crazy....either way, it is interesting how in 1836 she writes these thoughts that I am plugging into my days today. I couldn't have written this better....

In another journal entry, Charlotte used a word:
Scriblomania- compulsiveness to write, just can't help but write

I don't know if a word like this can describe a person, but I think this one might just describe me. Scriblomania is me. If I don't get some kind of writing in each day, I feel like my day hasn't been lived properly. I was sure nobody understood this. Until I read this in Charlotte's journal. She was like me in many ways. Her life was busy with obligations & work, and when she didn't have time to sit and fill up some blank pages in her journal, she was in agony. Oh, we understand one another, from different times.
So what is it that you are passionate about that a day is not complete without it?