First love

For as long as I can remember I have journaled. I don't think I have ever actually filled an entire notebook, but I have filled countless pages of countless books with my ramblings of the everyday mundane. Having started writing for a living, I find myself journaling less and less. In fact, in the almost 10 months in this new place, I have written less times than I have toes. A tragedy, to say the least. You see, I have a horrible memory.
When it comes to most things, I remember them simply because I have heard others tell the story. Sometimes I wonder if I was even there, or if I have fashioned my siblings memories into becoming my own. Journaling has in a sense, given me a snapshot into my past. Being a young-twenty something, you wouldn't think it hard to recall first crushes and school field trips. I have so often sat down in the middle of my bedroom floor and laughed through my tween years. Usually the process starts from some sort of cleaning, re-organizing or packing. I'm sure others can relate, you set out to accomplish something and end up reading or looking through old photo albums.
The last 10 months, even the last year and a half, have been so crucial in my life. Graduating college, going through the job-searching process, starting that first real job in my field, moving into my very own place, basically starting my life as I know it, and I have kept track of so little.
This is my attempt to record my fears, hopes, dreams, emotions and insight, as they happen. If for no one else but myself, I will think of this as my journal. I am returning to my first love, writing, for fun. So hold on tight....as I figure out what to do between life and laundry.