I was cleaning out some boxes from my once-flooded storage unit here in Seattle when I came across a notebook that had served time as a journal. I've probably got 20 of these laying around, and each time they come up I spend some time reading and trying to piece together what was happening. Let's just say I'm a prolific writer. I'm also a sack of crap romantic - I can't get a line straight in my head without adding the dime words and the gothic-era emotions.
Anyway, this particular journal covered a year in the life...from falling for someone to rebounding with someone else to getting ready to leave for New York. It was a hard journal to read - but not as hard as those I found from 10 years ago that clearly showed the early signs of a marriage that wasn't working (that lasted another 5 years). But I picked it up again and started writing - the voice is older, a little more acerbic - but no less romantic. Guess some things never change.
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