this morning, as i was clearing my bookshelf of giveaway stuff, i came across a cute journal that someone had brought me from japan years ago. it was hard-bound. the spine read "a day in the life of the fuzzy bears".
i remembered writing in it at one point and i opened it to see if it was worth salvaging. i read the first few pages, and kind of laughed. but then the entries got longer starting in may of 2003. as i read it i seriously thought to myself "i can't believe i that this was my life. i can't believe that i was in a place where i would actually think like this." at times throughout the day i would think about it and become a little sad for where i was then. and i'm so glad i'm not there anymore.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
i must have around a half dozen of those journals myself. i still have opened any of them to this day.
sounds scary.
yeah...it wasn't the normal angsty, teenager kind of stuff...prolly because i wasn't a teenager.
it was really just sad and sick.
it was "he's so good to me when he's not drinking." kind of thoughts.
whenever i hear a woman saying to me the things i had written in that book i only think to myself "sister, please. step up."
i was so not steppin.
Post a Comment