When I was a little girl growing up I was told that I should keep a journal. "It will be great for remembering," or "It will help you work out your feelings," or "It will help you find out who you really are." Poppycock. I think. At least whatever I wrote, reread many years later, sure is not something I want to remember, did not involve feelings or who I am/have become. But now as an adult, shocked yet comfortable to realize how incredibly normal real adult life is, I am beginning to wonder if a journal might be fun. So a blog (started way after they are en vogue), something to sassily record my "funny only to me" musings. Adult life will happen as it does, the simplicity of it which will shock me, the absurdity will hopefully be my surprising joy.
