It certainly was for me.
My daughter made me promise to write morning pages, and I have done so every day for nearly two years.
It takes about 20 minutes. First thing: coffee and morning pages. The days on hold for a while.
The time is sacred time, not clock time.
For months the pages I wrote were formless stream of consciouness trash.
Slowly the time evolved into one of reflection, and prayer.
My anger addiction: the shameful rush that comes from exploding with frustration and self-righteousness.
Anger is a mask for pain.
Im a complete narcissist, and everything not to my satisfaction is a painful insult.
I wake up every morning with resentment that seems to have swollen overnight.
Its been all I can do to tamp those feelings down so I dont blow up in violence.
As I wirte about whatever pops into my head, I turn the shapeless feelings into thoughts, and the thoughts into words. And my better brain makes sense of my words and sorts things out.
The stream of consciousness monologue? In time you find out: its a dialogue.