Last week, when I was writing the “Buddy and Bobby” essay, I wanted to include a picture or two Bobby drew in prison and maybe some excerpts from his letters. I searched high and low and couldn’t find them (that darn poltergeist at work again).

I did find a thirty-year-old journal that has developed that musty, old library book smell.

I’ve not yet developed the habit keeping a journal consistently. I may write several times a week for a few months, then not write for a year.

This steno pad journal spans from November of 1992 to January of 1995.

I expected to find it filled solely with moaning about my failures in housekeeping and mothering, and complaints about my sisters’ behavior. While those were there, they didn’t completely fill the pages.

Some passages did exactly what I hope for in a journal, capturing a bit who I was and specific moments of beauty.

Funny, what the mind keeps near the surface and what gets buried away. I found recorded incidents I’d completely forgotten about and thoughts that still visit me regularly.

The journal let me travel back in time.

While I enjoyed the trip, I understand that for others, it may be as boring as hearing someone else’s dreams is to most. Nonetheless, I thought I’d share some of what the 33-35 year-old Annie was thinking (says the oddball who loves to hear other people’s dreams).

Preface: This journal was written shortly after I left full-time employment at the commercial art studio where I’d worked for fourteen years. My son was ten. I’d been a part-time college student for four years and had just started full-time. My depression was at a low ebb, anxiety mid-line.

I resisted the urge to improve the language; I’ll give it to you as I wrote it, poor grammar, bad poetry, and all, but I will add clarifications in brackets as needed. I inserted the poems as pictures because Squarespace (my site server) won’t let me format the text the right way.

11/16/92

The snow melted everywhere, except on the deck. The powder remained there like sugar on gingerbread, just a dust that didn't want to blow away. The ground still holds the warmth of summer’s last rays and can chase away the frost, while the cold winter winds whistle under the deck and up through the slats. Still, the dog and the birds choose to sit upon the deck rather than on the ground.

11/18/92

Today Professor Wider drowned me in praise…I liked being praised, then later I felt bad, like I'd done something wrong. It is something I don't understand. Why should I feel so badly?....Perhaps there's some rule in my head that I'm just not supposed to feel good, so I better feel bad quickly to even out the keel…What's important is to stay centered whether it is criticism or praise which rains down on me. Like the oak, I will feel the winter winds and shiver, and I will bask in the sun's warm rays, but neither will change the essence of who I am. I am rooted firmly in the earth, bending in the breezes, branching out but staying true to the center.

12/2/92

Ok. Today was not a good day. Not because of what went wrong. Because I went wrong. I let it get to me, and then I lost control, and then my mouth started going. I said too much. So I go from here. Start over…

12/12/92

I would not want to be alone all the time. It is good to be alone now. Jeff and Justin have gone away to George's to play with their little tanks….Mr. Dog [our cockapoo/wire-haired terrier] has desires, but is he aware that he does? I don't think so. That “self-consciousness” is suppose to be what sets humans apart. But I wouldn't agree that it is exclusively human. Gorillas or other apes, and dolphins, whales, they might have that awareness. Without some language in common to us it is difficult to tell. Koko seems to.

1/26/93

I had a flash of insight today. It will seem very simple and straightforward when written down, but it came as a profound revelation to me….From the time I wake up until the time I go to bed, I spend 75 to 80% of that time in the assessment process. I make judgments on everything, moment to moment. I'm not a good mother. I'm stupider than I was last week. I'm not a good housekeeper, etc., but in more minute detail and breakdown…Up until now my tactic to overcome this process has been to try to be more fair and even-handed. Okay the revelation. I'm walking through the hall at school thinking about how I've messed up that day, all the way out to the car. About halfway home, finally, after 33 years, I realize the problem isn't so much my judgments but the amount of time I spend making them. So I've made a decision. Unless some signal arises that there is a problem, I'll refrain from making assessments. Periodically is okay. This constant stuff is a waste of energy.

[Underneath that passage there's a note written later in pencil that says “I WISH.” I tired but failed to shut off the constant negative judgments (until just a few years ago).]

2/26/93

Jeff and Justin are having a tickle fight in the living room. I'm hiding out in the bedroom. I love to hear Justin laugh.

5/6/93

[This was written after receiving a “returning women’s” scholarship & attending the awards ceremony, which was an amazing event.]

…What may benefit me more in the long run though, more than the money, is having been included among that group of women. So many of them had made such strides….The balancing act in my mind, is to accept the accolades while not making my self-worth dependent upon them. I know around the corner I may face the harshest critics, but neither changes who I am and I can't let it affect my assessments of who I am.

5/7/93

[It had been seven years since Mother died; she is buried in North Carolina.]

Two days before Mother's Day and I've got the missing-mom-blues. After dropping off Justin at school this morning, I felt like I could just keep driving south. But when I got to North Carolina, she wouldn't be there. I just feel like I would be visiting her. All day I've been filled with wordless grief….

….A thousand golden suns dot the green expanse of my unkempt lawn. Wild beauty.

5/24/93

I've decided to do housework only if I can do it joyfully– consequently housework is ruled out.

6/13/93

[I was reflecting on Mary Fish’s journal from the 1770s, read for my history class—I was struck by how little she wrote about the politics and challenges of the times. I imagined a future historian—would she wonder why I didn't write about the neo-Nazis in Germany, or what was happening in Bosnia?]

….Perhaps my imaginary historian will want to know how the computer worked its way into the everyday lives of people. Will it be of interest the way we waited for prices to drop and made a purchase of our first computer—an Atari 800—when it dropped to below $1,000—which we thought was a great deal. Who knew that a few months later we could have spent half that.

[Then I described a dream about my ex-husband.]

This dream may have been brought on by my pondering the last few days over my breaking points with people. I don't know exactly what made me think about that. But what I found was perhaps too strong a survival instinct on my part. Once a person threatens to kill me, I cut myself off from them, however unserious they may have thought themselves to be. With Greg I severed all ties, literally, and almost immediately. With my dad, I certainly cut any remaining emotional ties and most others. Greg claims not to have been serious in his threats while Dad probably has no recollection of his. Those facts, however, seem to have impacted on my thoughts not at all–I just acted totally on the threats themselves.

7/22/93

[Justin and I were up north at Hubby's family’s farmhouse up in the thumb, where lots of cousins live nearby.]

Justin went with the kids for a 2-hour walk…Justin and Jon took a ride on a two-person bike on which they took a tumble. Justin got the worst end of it with Jon and the bike landing on his face. His left cheek is swollen. His lip is swollen too and his head is scraped. He's having a great time. [And he really was!]

2/5/94

This first month of 94 has been happier, but stresses still carry on aggravated by this illness [turned out to be gallstones]. But my attitude towards stress is improving. It's getting to be like endometriosis. I just detach from it, acknowledge it and find some peace and some happiness where I can.

2/22/94

In so many of these pages I'm the one who is myopic (well isn't that the purpose, partly, here?). This is where I blow off steam, express fears, anger. Maybe it's not clear how very much I love Jeff and how dear he is to me. Justin too. Justin–I can never be good enough for him. My mothering is better than what I got, but nowhere near good enough.

1/1/95

[My adult-nephew, Kevin, and adult-niece Wendy and her family were staying with us. Ian was seven, Cory three and a half.]

…If we rang in the New Year well—which we heartily tried to do—1995 should be void of the demons we chased off. Ian and Justin banged pots in front of the Christmas tree until Justin broke his wooden spoon. Wendy, Cory, and I rang bells, while Jeff and John lit firecrackers and whistlers. Kevin sat mute in the midst, coming down with a cold. We raised a worthy ruckus, then had a sparkling juice toast. Cory misunderstood the “toast” concept and went to bed very disappointed that he didn't get to eat toast.

1/15/95

Closing Thoughts

Well, my fellow earthlings, was I right? As bad as hearing someone else’s dream? I’m not sure this is the worst blog idea I’ve come up with, but it may be. If I didn’t want to skip a week, I’d delete it. I’ve been too busy weeding and planting to spend my usual amount of time writing.

I’m no Sylvia Plath or Virginia Woolf, but I hope this will inspire you to grab a notebook and record bits and pieces of your life. A future you will be happy that you did.

Memory Lane

Joy

Buddy and Bobby