Journal Sanctity?

My personal journal is missing, and I suspect a certain charming four-year-old has hijacked it. He has already made his own entries in it, with my tacit permission, but this morning I have something to say and the journal is gone. Maybe there is a metaphor here, a lesson, about identity and expression, about boundaries and quality of life, thought, and words. Here are the questions:

1. If the four-year old's entries are probably more wholesome and affirming than my own, and he makes better use of my privacy than I do, is he more entitled to it?

2. Could the four-year-old's entries be the redeeming of the book?

3. If I do not write personally and guard my personal expression, will I lose it?

4. What is the loss if a record is faulty and fierce?

5. Some boundary setting is permitted; if I allow people to invade the boundary through laxness or generosity and then begrudge it, am I not blameworthy for the loss?

6. What is the point of these questions?

I have a blank journal that I could start over in again. Maybe it's time to write a better life.