In my move to Richard's house and since my parents retirement to AZ, when they shipped me all my remaining items from my childhood bedroom, I've turned up a stack of old journals. I'm in the process of going through them from beginning to end. I'm starting sequentially with my very first journal from 1987 when I was just 10 years old.
My diary writing started after reading Harriet the Spy and learning how to write semi-legibly. Immediately I took to the page. But, very disappointing to me now, my entries are not-earth shattering, and they don't remind me of many of my thoughts from those times. I think my entire junior high journal was just a tally of who my friends were. I was apparently obsessed with social circles back then. The year my dad left, my journal entry covered so much in just a couple sentences and it seems like there was much more left unsaid.
Journaling was new to me at that time so I think I just hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet. Plus I was very wary of the prying eyes of my parents and brother so I was pretty tight-lipped even though my first two diaries came with a combination lock.
Once I find a longer cord for my printer I intend to scan in photos from the year 1987 and put a face to my childhood, for the Stories of Sorts I intended when I started this blog.
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