For today.

Hi. I'm back at my desk space--I very much prefer this term to cubicle--because comcast is showing me a RED light at home. And I left my journal here.

Have I told you about my journal? Some may say it's bland, granola, merely brown.
Hello! I'm from Seattle.
Of course I hold my words in something like this.

Its unlined pages are wide open and bound within tough brown cardboard. The folder pocket at the end holds a letter in eleven year-old scrawl; the announcement of a wedding shower; a program from a Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, Williams and Dvořák concert; a Personal Progress insert entitled Virtue. A while back, I started alternating between written words and taped in mementos. Not my idea and I'm not taking credit. But I love what it's done to my thought processes. Latest entries?

This dinner is for
CLaiRe
so she can know
that someone is thinkin about her.
Happy Summer!
***

MISSIONARIES CALLED TO SERVE OUT OF THIS AREA.
***

U
***

I keep it right next to me at my desk. I think of too many things just sitting here all day.
I love how each one of my journals is different, very different from the others.
There are thirty cent spirals with bright colored covers: red, green, orange, yellow;
a thick, green and pink plaid one;
a black and white, swirly designed one;
an ivory, hard-bound one embossed with Journal and Claire Sorensen in gold.

There are many. And the writing inside is as different as their covers.

Ain't it grand?