Monday, September 16: I Wish the Journals Would Quiet Down

Several weeks have passed without a post, but honestly that's a good thing, life just going along with an absence of drama. I take my pills, I go about my life, I feel great and have lots of fun things planned and just push all the what-ifs into their usual locked compartment. They let themselves be herded in without protest. 

Meanwhile, life in the here and now traipeses along. School is going well for the kids. Junior year is keeping Lucia busy, as expected--not just classes but SAT prep, trying to start a volunteer job, and, of course, XC. Greta loves high school so far, maybe especially not having to wear a uniform anymore.

We spent Labor Day in Connellsville, staying overnight so we could have a nice Gabe's trip, a run (me: walk), on the bike trail, a game of Clue, and some meals together. 

The kids had their first XC race on Friday, and it was a great start for all. Lucia came in #10 overall, and Greta got a PR in her first high school race. Mom and Dad came to watch, a great race to see--both the girls' and boys' teams came in first. 

On Saturday, Mom went to a WVU football game (!) with friends, and Dad drove to our house for a day of thrifting--first, the Day on the Lawn rummage sale in Sewickley; then a stop at Red White and Blue; then back to the Day on the Lawn for the half-off portion of the sale. A full day of bargains.

Here and there I've worked from home and we know what that means: some stolen time digging into my vast personal archives, never sure what I'm going to find. This past week I was specifically looking at journals from 1994-1995, trying to find any hint of my thought process as I was selecting, appling for, and deciding on colleges. The information is scant. Although there is a rare mention of stress, confusion, and general life cluelessness, it seems like the college process--for me--operated somewhat beneath the surface, overshadowed by the fun and drama of junior and senior year. Is this possible? Did I really not think about it all the time? Things were different back then, sure; but I also think that maybe I should have been spending just a little more time contemplating, deliberating, weighing. Now and then a cogent reflection surfaces--and then, just as quickly, it's gone, and a summary of a current General Hospital plotline I found particularly affecting takes over the page. (This is real. I was invested.)

There is so much more in these journals, so many details and experiences, and--considered alongside all of the other documentation, the letters and poems and stories, all of which intersect and cross-reference and augment one another--it's almost too much to take in. Like falling down a well, treading water for a bit, and then falling down an even deeper part of the well. It's hard to reemerge. 

Lots more needs to be said about all of these archives, and I need to spend some time figuring out how to start the analysis. More to come. It's hard to even know where to begin or what to say. There is so much documentation. Sometimes I can almost hear my past self yelling for attention. Unlike photos, these written materials don't wait around quietly to be unearthed.