Two years ago, I packed it up, along with everything else I own, put it in a box and threw it into a storage room. I needed to forget all of it and start a new life, somewhere that no one knew my name and I could just start over. That was almost three years ago. It feels like a lifetime.

There's a sense of urgency in finding that journal. It's a part of me that I wanted to forget for so long. Something I needed to leave behind, to hide from. But now I find myself desperately wanting it back. I'm trying to remember what was so horrible that I had to get away from it. So I went up to that storage room today and searched through every one of those boxes to no avail.

I am convinced that I won't find it again until comfortable with who I am and where I am. That is at least a year away.

So I'm trying to get myself to remember the things I may have written in there, and sadly, only two entries come to mind. One involving a certain "theme song'd" individual which I'd rather not discuss right now. The other was written on a paper coaster from chili's on the day of my grandfather's funeral. I remember thinking about how wierd it was that we (my cousins, siblings and I) were all sitting around, laughing and joking on that day. I thought it was the coolest thing that we were able to celebrate his life in that way.

I guess I was just hoping to recreate some of those feelings, some of those memories, and use who I was as a starting place to figure out who I am now and how far I am from who I want to be.

Geez, these entries keep getting lamer. I'm going to have to start writing more about drama or falling down the stairs or something.