Journal
So, this is completely random, but I'm rather proud of it and want to share it. Names and locations have been changed to a random selection, yes I'm paranoid about people figuring out who I am.
Dear Ruth,
we were friends once, and I hope we will be again, but this isn't about that. This is my journal. In letter form because I realised quite a few years ago that I'm not very good at keeping a diary, but I love writing letters. More than people like to write back most of the time. The logical solution to both problems is to take a leaf out of Anne Frank's book (so to speak) and address my diary to someone. And today, sitting by what appears to be a very small, very stagnant tributary to the Cavalla river, inspiration struck. We've been out of touch so long, and the small points of contact for the few years before were awkward, and I didn't know how to get to know you again, didn't know how to write you a letter. Even though I don't quite know how to write a journal either, somehow doing both at once is easy. So this is my journal, addressed to you Ruth, even though I have no intention of ever sending it to you. Just maybe though, sometime in the years to come we will be friends again and maybe one day you will read this.
I think the thought that someone might read this at some distant point in the future makes this easier to write. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it makes me feel like I'm then too, with distance between me and things that seam so big and scary right now. Maybe it just makes it seem like someone's listening to me in the present, despite the fact they won't read these words for years, and maybe not even then. for whatever reason, thinking that someone might read this helps me order my thoughts, even be more optimistic.
If you're still reading and haven't figured out what this is, its my latest attempt to keep a record of my life. I know it stops kinda abruptly, but I purposefully wanted to put this out there somewhat unpolished. I stopped because the words ran out and I'm going to resist the urge to smooth off the ending.
Dear Ruth,
we were friends once, and I hope we will be again, but this isn't about that. This is my journal. In letter form because I realised quite a few years ago that I'm not very good at keeping a diary, but I love writing letters. More than people like to write back most of the time. The logical solution to both problems is to take a leaf out of Anne Frank's book (so to speak) and address my diary to someone. And today, sitting by what appears to be a very small, very stagnant tributary to the Cavalla river, inspiration struck. We've been out of touch so long, and the small points of contact for the few years before were awkward, and I didn't know how to get to know you again, didn't know how to write you a letter. Even though I don't quite know how to write a journal either, somehow doing both at once is easy. So this is my journal, addressed to you Ruth, even though I have no intention of ever sending it to you. Just maybe though, sometime in the years to come we will be friends again and maybe one day you will read this.
I think the thought that someone might read this at some distant point in the future makes this easier to write. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it makes me feel like I'm then too, with distance between me and things that seam so big and scary right now. Maybe it just makes it seem like someone's listening to me in the present, despite the fact they won't read these words for years, and maybe not even then. for whatever reason, thinking that someone might read this helps me order my thoughts, even be more optimistic.
If you're still reading and haven't figured out what this is, its my latest attempt to keep a record of my life. I know it stops kinda abruptly, but I purposefully wanted to put this out there somewhat unpolished. I stopped because the words ran out and I'm going to resist the urge to smooth off the ending.