Wednesday, July 16, 2008

a funny thing happened on the way from the post office...

i shipped off a ridiculous amount of media mail from madison to saratoga.  i was left no choice but to plop my large and dear collection of writing journals, tear stained books, and sloppy scrapbooks from over the years. as i carefully taped up the boxes, i had a funny feeling not all of them would make it back to me.

and what do you know?...i was right. the post office called to tell me one of the boxes had opened and that they would do the best they could to send me everything that was in it. some cupcake cookbooks and two journals from high school didn't make it back to me, but i had centered my chi enough to be cool with it.

the real surprise was the peculiar pink and polka-dot journal that showed up in my box. it's not mine. who's is it? well, i know and i do not know, too. name? who knows. address? same answer.

but i can tell you that the pink and polk-dot journal belongs to a girl who writes only in cursive, likes jessica simpson, has been planning a trip to paris and london for months (with a detailed budget), and writes lovely/angst-y/hopeful poetry.  i feel like she may be younger, like high school, only because her voice struck a cord in me. it's a voice i recognized in myself.  it's a voice similar to the one that some other stranger is reading in my own, lost, high school journal.  and i hope that my stranger does read my words when they find my polka dot journal in their box, just as i have done to someone else. and i hope that my stranger feels the same hope that i did when he or she peers into the mind of an unknown girl and her feeble attempts at young, fresh, and fragile creativity.


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