Looking Backwards
I'm out of notebook paper. I knew that I had oodles in the closet, in old notebooks and binders. College-ruled, 10%post-consumer recycled--the primo stuff. However, rummaging through the piles upon piles of boxes was a daunting task. It would dredge up both dust and memories of BSC.
I went through about three several-subject notebooks and gleaned almost a ream out of it. I glanced briefly at some of my notes from class and some of my notes to myself.
Jesus, I'm glad I'm not her anymore. I'm glad that I don't wallow. I'm glad that I act. I'm glad that I seek help when needed. I'm glad that I learned to see deadlines as more than suggestions. I'm glad that I fix things myself.
It was a dusty, yet inspiring trip through my past.
I went through about three several-subject notebooks and gleaned almost a ream out of it. I glanced briefly at some of my notes from class and some of my notes to myself.
Jesus, I'm glad I'm not her anymore. I'm glad that I don't wallow. I'm glad that I act. I'm glad that I seek help when needed. I'm glad that I learned to see deadlines as more than suggestions. I'm glad that I fix things myself.
It was a dusty, yet inspiring trip through my past.