Is it right to write or right to type?

That caption took way too long to figure out in my head if it rhymed… it didn’t…

I haven’t really been blogging that much, as when you live in a bog up North the internet connection isn’t that strong.
But yesterday, as I was rooting though some old drawers in my room I found three notepads. One was my sisters plain sheet drawing pad, one was an old writing journal of mine, and the third was the same type of journal in a different colour, only blank. And I was so excited to find it blank, because I could fill it up. But then, just as I was about to write, I thought to myself why bother writing it here where I can’t save it. If I ever wanted it, it would be on this piece of paper and no where else. And I was saddened by this. Simply because the joy I got when I was younger from buying a new lined refill pad will never be felt by others again. I was more interested in saving my work than writing in it. I felt ashamed of this too, which was a weird feeling. So when I did eventually convince myself to write something, I realised how bad my spelling was, and my phraseology of sentences, and my spelling. Spelling I was most surprised at, but then again I don’t have an automatic red line underneath if I accidentally mix up two vowels or something on a sheet of paper…

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