As I mentioned last month, I’ve been dipping into journals I kept long ago. This morning’s adventure was like a long dive into a long-forgotten stream. It was my voice, my way of looking at the world, but applied to a completely different set of circumstances.

No children yet, not much of a job, I was cobbling together an income from odd jobs and transcribing tapes. It was one of those times that was terribly difficult — except just surviving it made me feel whole and strong and capable.

I’m trying to write about this time, write clearly without remorse or false cheer.

The journals help.