I found my old Livejournal. I spent about 5 minutes reading it before my famous sentimentality kicked in. I wanted to stay 20 forever and I still do. If only because there was the IDEA that I could be a writer. That idea is long gone. It was replaced with the reality of life and how terribly dull being mortal and poor really is. I could make excuse after excuse for why I don't write anymore. I used to keep journals and not only was I pouring my heart into something once or twice a week, keeping records of the people and places that I came across...my penmanship was outstanding. And the online stuff also. If I could read my Xanga or TeenOpenDiary...what worlds I would enter. The reason behind not writing, if I'm being honest with myself, is that I'm not 20 anymore. Its the fucking pits. There's nothing worth writing about. I am getting older and the magic of young adulthood is fading, and quickly.
I imagine my 40 year old self cursing at me and all my 27 years of experience. Who the hell does this girl think she is? Well, older Molly, I'm gonna try and start again.
I just have to keep reminding myself that if I don't tell my story, nobody's gonna.
Also, typing on a computer and not an iPhone is frustrating. Autocorrect, you've made me dyslexic.
Twentyseven!
