First-time blunders
My brother turned me on to this whole blog idea. He said that when he'd first heard of it he thought of me. Probably because I still suspect that my feebled attempts at keeping my journal safe from his eyes--replete with virtually nonworking lock (in the younger years)--were oft thwarted. Now, of course, there will no longer be a need for anyone to be tempted to look into the forbidden black journal...I will simply satisfy all by writing in a new format--and for all to 'witness,' if you will. I will, however, always be smitten with the act of writing on paper with the perfect pen. I have a romantic notion about writing--specifically it's potential to carry me off into the world when I am no longer here.
I have been journaling since the third grade, when my girlfriend and I would sit on the balcony while at the babysitters--writing in tandem. I wonder now what she might have been writing then. Was she writing about with whom she was in love? Was she questioning her place in the world? Was she trying to understand relationships, bitching about people who were cruel, or saving bits of notes from boys: "Do you like me? Circle yes or no"? These were my own very early writing topics.I wonder if she writes still. I had for many years kept the journals together, rummaging through my past when the mood hit me. I can see, even now in my mind, the style of my handwriting, the pasted notes from Morgan, my very first love, written in purple marker. However, when I met and married the wrong man (much more on that later), his jealousy prompted me to throw them all away. What a travesty--as though throwing away the written evidence would give me some kind of tabula rasa for him to mold and manipulate into what/who he wanted me to be. Silly girl. I could kick myself for that. Really.
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