First Times

For my birthday a few months ago, I received an 'oh so lovely' little notebook from a couple of friends, who I used to go to college with. When my other book was full (that my good friend Kelly gave me), it was the perfect opportunity to christen this one with my scribbly markings.

Writing in any new book is like starting the most frustrating of thing's.
A blank page screams perfection, a single black mark can look as bad as a bird shit on the president of America's white house. But although I revel in the pristine condition of thing's new, these 'things' agitate me, they show me up to be the farmers daughter I really am, born into wellies and a fine layer of dirt on the skin. So in essence, I look forward to nurturing the cloth to a finely worn, perfection of it's own, making this book, my own.

I'd like to again thank my friends for theses gifts (even if they never read this). I'm not sure they will realize how much it may mean to me in the future. I hope it's not too inward looking to see this book as an 'archive' of my life - it won't just be about me, it will be coming from my brain, but also from the surroundings and people I encounter along my way, or I choose to reflect on. If I don't put pen to paper to speak literally, I'll never know all these things that are going on in my mind and floating on around me. Also I want to sleep easy tonight knowing thing's that 'bother' me are on paper, and maybe circling less around my head.