Long Ride Home

Sometimes, as you go through life, you focus on the things that happen and you end up forgetting who you are -- who you once were. People sing about it, write about, make movies about; you hear about it constantly, but you never realize when it happens to you.

I am the happiest person in the world. I truly am. I have a gorgeous husband, an adorable son, the house that I've wanted for years, a comfortable job, and enough money to survive (though not much more than that).

On top of that, I'm not one of those people who doesn't realize what I have. I thank God at least once a day for giving me these things.

But, I forgot who I was. It's as simple as that. Yes, we all change as we get older, but there are certain things that are important -- things you're supposed to retain. I lost some of them. Not all -- there's still a lot of me in here -- but some of the important stuff slipped through the cracks.

I was reminded today of the things that I missed. All it took were six beautiful songs to make me remember where I was, and where I wanted to be. Listening to this music makes me feel complete -- like finding an old friend, and realizing just how much of you went missing when you lost them.

So, I'm still the happiest person in the world. I just had a much-needed reminder of who I am, and who I always hope to be.

I'm in Hell

Having the worst week.. mini-brad troubles, car troubles.. I'm ready for this one to be over with. I'm about to inherit (if they ever show up) about a thousand purple mini-brads. They're fun ones -- there's little hearts and starts and flowers and stuff, but they're still purple. It *is* my fave color, but I just don't do a whole bunch of purple pages. Maybe I'll use them in my circle journal.

We went to Jazz for dinner last night. Mike ended up cussing out our waiter. He followed us out to the car to argue with Mike. It was crazy -- in my worst waitressing days, I never would have followed a customer to their car to argue with them about the service I provided. He kept going, "BUT I HAD 11 TABLES!" Mike was like, "Ok, but you didn't have to just blatantly ignore us." The food was good, though.

My check engine light is on in my car. It's idling low. Something's wrong with the wheel. I'm wondering if this is God's way of telling me it's time for a new car. So many bills, so little money, such an expensive scrapping habit. I'm screwed.

Journaling

If you were to dig through the random mess of boxes scattered throughout our basement and shed, you would eventually find my journals that I kept when I was younger. I loved journaling. I had journals with short stories in them, diaries, records of my travels (road trips!) -- I wrote about everything.

Mike and I had been together about six months when he came upon my journal in my purse. I can't even begin to tell you what the excuse was, but he took it upon himself to open it up and read the latest entry. I won't share with you what was written in this book, but suffice it to say that it didn't make him very happy. He left. I wasn't sure he would come back. I spent four agonizing hours trying to figure out if I was upset that he might be breaking up with me, or upset that he actually had the balls to read something as personal and private to me as my journal!

Obviously, we worked out the issues that I had articulated in my ramblings, but this experience stuck with me. I remember saying to him, "I've been journaling since I knew how to read and write. You've taken that away from me. I'll never feel comfortable putting my feelings on paper again." He thought I was being melodramatic, and I felt betrayed. I haven't written in a journal since then.

Last week, I received a gift from a new friend. She couldn't have known just how special and significant this gift would be, and I don't think I could even put into words for her what a phenomenally important gesture it was. She gave me a journal. It is a beautiful journal, decorated in purples and yellows, which are my two favorite colors. It's gorgeous and inspiring, and I brought it home and put it on the dresser and left it there for a few days while I worked around it in my head.

So, I've decided that it's a sign. It's time to revisit a well-worn and much-loved pastime. This evening, I'll make my first journal entry in over three years.. I can already feel the familiar comfort of releasing my thoughts and feelings onto paper. It's funny how the things you love slip away without your even noticing, until someone comes along to remind you how wonderful they were.