So, I'm feeling totally ambivalent about this.
And definitely behind the curve. Ask me why I'm doing this and I'm hard pressed for an answer. I'm thinking it might get me writing again. It's too bad this wasn't around when I was 20 and keeping journals. Or maybe not. It's always a mortifying experience to read the journals I kept in college. I don't remember where I found the black faux-leather ledgers with the fake red Moroccan trim, but I filled a few. Using a Schaefer cartridge fountain pen, if you please. Blue ink! It was years later that I graduated to Montblanc Blue/Black. Anyway, I was in love every single day with some new guy, all completely unsuitable, and all of this rendered in the most overblown yet austere prose imaginable. Sort of an ungodly combination of Joan Didion and Laura Nyro. I kept that journal for a couple of years; it basically details my return and departure from school, my first apartment, meeting Robert and the year that followed. I guess ages 19 through 21. I stopped writing basically when Robert moved in with me. I guess I didn't feel the need to document my post adolescent ruminations on men and dating anymore. Maybe tonight I'll grab 'em off the shelf and take a spin. It's always fun being reminded what a case I was and can still be. It's cringe-worthy noting I'm still capable of experiencing versions of those same emotions all these years later. Ah, well. Everything changes and nothing changes.