(no subject)
I wish there was an easy way to print up a lot of my posts. I don't like the idea my ideas, stories, memories (no matter how ridiculous they were) could be deleted.
Its difficult to remember a time I didn't keep a written account of myself. When digging through my boxes o' stuff in my parents' basement (my future home...?) you can find various little hardly used diaries, the kind with the cheap generic locks? It wasn't until middle school that I wrote in the same one consistently. There were a series of them... simple spiral notebooks, always teal green or dark blue... really beat up by the time I'd filled them. They must be at home somewhere. I haven't looked through them since jr. high, I'm too nervous. All those adolescent opinions... makes me wince thinking about them ^.^ I'm confident nobody has ever read them, except Claire Ford (I don't actually know her new married name... oops). She drove up with my dad and I to Michi-Lu-Ca for the winter trip once, and she read some (all?) of them.
Well then live journal began. ::shrug:: Paper and pen journals ended there for a long time. Then I found the these nice notebooks at a department store, bought them impulsively, a set of three. One of them is for world current events, recording whats happening and my take on them. The second is the gradual recording of my earliest childhood memories. The third stayed empty for a long time. But since Feb. 2009 its been a diary... focused on Adam for a while, but its moved on to my life in general, though it does deal with more emotions than events and facts.
There is something about writing. A kind of record of our lives that has the potential to continue on after us, a part of us...
...run out of time... I have to go supervise the cleaning of a girls bathroom. I think that will be a whole new entry later this week, standing around in a girls bathroom with a bunch of freshmen... until later :-)
Its difficult to remember a time I didn't keep a written account of myself. When digging through my boxes o' stuff in my parents' basement (my future home...?) you can find various little hardly used diaries, the kind with the cheap generic locks? It wasn't until middle school that I wrote in the same one consistently. There were a series of them... simple spiral notebooks, always teal green or dark blue... really beat up by the time I'd filled them. They must be at home somewhere. I haven't looked through them since jr. high, I'm too nervous. All those adolescent opinions... makes me wince thinking about them ^.^ I'm confident nobody has ever read them, except Claire Ford (I don't actually know her new married name... oops). She drove up with my dad and I to Michi-Lu-Ca for the winter trip once, and she read some (all?) of them.
Well then live journal began. ::shrug:: Paper and pen journals ended there for a long time. Then I found the these nice notebooks at a department store, bought them impulsively, a set of three. One of them is for world current events, recording whats happening and my take on them. The second is the gradual recording of my earliest childhood memories. The third stayed empty for a long time. But since Feb. 2009 its been a diary... focused on Adam for a while, but its moved on to my life in general, though it does deal with more emotions than events and facts.
There is something about writing. A kind of record of our lives that has the potential to continue on after us, a part of us...
...run out of time... I have to go supervise the cleaning of a girls bathroom. I think that will be a whole new entry later this week, standing around in a girls bathroom with a bunch of freshmen... until later :-)