Ellie recently discovered my journals on the bookshelf and frolicked about with them for a bit.  As I picked up the bits and pieces that had fallen out (I stuck significant receipts in, love letters, break up letters (yes!  I kept it!), bits of poetry and scrawlings on napkins that I wrote when the journal was not in hand), I got sucked in and I keep picking them up and reading random bits.  I will say this; every bit of it is embarrassing.  E-ver-y sentence.  Mind you, this was a place I wrote what I never ever thought anyone would read.  I guess I was forgetting that I, myself, would be reading it someday.

Anyway, it reminded me how lovely it is to sit down a write something, even if it is nonsense or complainy.  Also, it reminded me of how it felt to be 21.  Hint:  it felt awkward, but also wonderful.

As I am not likely to find a way to fit in hours long breaks in coffee shops to stare out the windows daydreaming and writing in a journal, if I want to write more nonsense it will have to be in here, during naptime.


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