February 13th, 2004 (Entry # 1)

I don’t know if I’ve been feeling uninspired or introverted.

Recently I posted excerpts from my old journals. There were two buried away in my closet, along with some failed attempts at poetry and fiction, scribbled into hardcover notebooks whose original manufacturer decorated with fairies and angels, undoubtedly aiming the products at young girls in need of a place to store their secrets.

The post was my last before I left for Europe.  That night, after its publication here on KeepMyWords, I was moving the journals back to their home in my closet when one in particular caught my eye.  I hadn’t noticed it earlier.

It was a small hardcover notebook with off-white colored pages trimmed in gold.  The cover portrayed a woman sitting in solitary playing a harp by the light of the moon.  Surrounding her were flowers in bloom, and beyond her a leafless tree.

Every third page or so had a quote at the top center.  We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams and The voice is a wild thing, it can’t be bred in captivity, to name a few.

I opened to the first page.  On the left side was a small yellow Post-it note with the message:

7/14/03 7/16/03
Thought it might be fun for you to write down your thoughts during relocation.
[Heart], Mom

(I moved to Los Angeles that year.)

The right side contained a pre-printed poem.  As my family often does with greeting cards, above the generic message my mother wrote “To: Ashleigh”.  Following the final words (The spirit of the music beckons, inspiring a symphony of thoughts to fill each page.) she wrote “With Love, Mom.  August 2003”.

I didn’t remember this journal, and I was curious to see what I would find when turning the page again.

It’s embarrassing.  And inspiring.  And real.

So to get myself back into writing after a month-long hiatus, I will publish an entry a day from this journal written by a 22-year old girl that I can’t believe is me, although I do see the similarities.

I see that I have always been like this on some level.

It seems I started it right before the vacation Jayme and I took to New York when we were living in Los Angeles.  It was on that trip that we decided to move to New York after less that a year in L.A.  I remember being at The Abbey on Driggs and North 7th with our New Orleans friends who had already been living in Brooklyn for some time.  It was an amazing night, my first time walking through the brisk Brooklyn streets with a group of comrades.  We went from bar to bar, drinking, laughing, and taking photos with a disposable camera.

Jayme sat in the bar stool to my right.  I turned towards her.  “I wanna live here,” I said.

She didn’t hesitate.  “Me too,” she replied.

As I mentioned in the previous old-journal post, we moved the following September and have been here ever since.

(In black ballpoint pen, cursive handwriting:)


It’s either a countdown of my heart breaking or of my heart feeling a zing like never before.  “State of emergency, is where I want to be, emotional landscapes, they puzzle me, confuse.”  Confused?  Yes, I am.  Where will those days take me, what will they show me?  The same old disappointment?  Probably.  The love I’ve only dreamed about and seen in movies?  Doubtful.
But he does have a name, and for now that is most important.  Right now.  As I write these words that will someday make me cringe.  But a lot of things do make me cringe, so it’s neither a loss or a gain.  I just want to be with him, with his hands, with his lips.  He could never want me this bad, and that in itself is a disappointment.  Now all we need is for me to go there and fuck it all up.  Is it avoidable?  No, unlikely.  I like him, so I will fuck it up.  “I’m so tired, I haven’t slept a wink.  I’m so tired, my mind is on the brink.”  We’re so far apart, only I could be this hopeless.  But life is what you make it, and I’m young and stupid, so I’m counting down.  40-some days, until I see my mind’s lover’s face.
40-some more days, until I fall flat on mine.

Something in me is malfunctioning again.  I think the glitch is caused by boys.  It’s always boys.

I guess I’m a crazy girl after all.

4 Responses to “February 13th, 2004 (Entry # 1)”

  1. February 14th, 2004 (Entry # 2) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] Keep My Words « February 13th, 2004 (Entry # 1) [...]

  2. February 21st, 2004 (Entry # 4, Zach Galifianakis, & Zombies) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] (Entry # 1) (Entry # 2) (Entry # 3) [...]

  3. February 29th, 2004 (Entry # 5) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] (Entry # 1) (Entry # 2) (Entry # 3) (Entry # 4) [...]

  4. March 28th, 2004 (Entry # 8, Prefaced By Another Talk with Justin) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] are only three more entries in this old journal (followed by some strange poetry whose publication I am debating, though knowing me I probably [...]

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