a series of events led me to open my one indulgent packrat box last night. i was looking for things for a school project, but this is where i shove all my journals once i fill up the pages. i haven’t looked at any of these in years, i’ve intentionally avoided them for no good reason. i remember at a certain point throwing away my really young journals, through high school i’m sure. i have a militant anti-packrat streak, to the point of fault, there are many things that i just refuse to hold onto because my family are such hoarders.
anyhow, i pulled out one of the journals. it was from 1999 with a couple blurbs in 2000 after a year hiatus. i’m not ready to really get into reflection on the contents, but it brought up strange feelings to understand how much of the same issues, the same obsessions, the same questions, fears, guiding lines remain. part of it is comforting, part is sad, all of it just is. it just has me pensive about where i am now, how i got here, and where i will go next.