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Fancy Green Journal

August 30, 2011

I started writing, actually it was journaling, because it was therapeutic for me after my Grandpa’s death. Then the story kind of took on a life of its own. Every time I sat down to write in my super duper fancy new green and leather-bound journal from Barnes and Noble, I realized that I wasn’t just journaling. I was forming a book, I was journaling in chapters. Who does that? I mean, who journals in chapters? I know I’m organized but I didn’t realize that I was to the point that I was categorizing my life for the last few years into chapters. At least I wasn’t journaling in chapters and sipping off of a vodka bottle in a cardboard box with a chapped face in that green journal. I was at home, brewing my nervous breakdown, slowly but surely and writing in that fabulous book.

I did it though, and it turned out to be awesome. Seriously, kinda awesome in that self deprecating and self-aware and self-conscious way. So, pretty much I was confused about this compulsion of mine to write in this journal. I spent hours trying to get it all down on paper but I couldn’t start from the most recent themes. No, that would not be proper. I had to start from the beginning of my journey with Alzheimer’s and being a parent and a wife and a small business owner.

Here is a prequil to my next post: a photograph of my fancy blue journal.

20110831-071728.jpg

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