baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Honestly, George! I found my former life on the bookshelf; a cloth-covered journal stitched with a sort-of-flower pattern invoking Elizabethan times or something equally as cheesy. The penmanship betrays me as the author, but the mood of the words belonged to a different sort of person: a person giddy with naivete-someone who existed on two parts pride, one part complacency. It hadn't been updated in years. The entries were at first written daily-or almost daily, but the intervals grew wider over time-days turning into years and, in the case of the last entry, decades. I was clearly happier back then-even though the writing was filtered through the knowledge that the journal was public. Anyone could read it-which pretty much robbed the words of complete honesty. 9:00 p.m. - 2005-05-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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