Sunday, February 8, 2009

My own 116 lost pages.

One thing that brings me more consistent anxiety, frustration, and anger than anything else is losing things. I can't stand it. I HATE losing things. Money, keys, a name it, I've lost it. And been mad about it.

I may never completely comprehend what Joseph Smith went through when poor Martin lost those 116 pages. But today, I feel like I am experiencing his feelings in small part. So I've been going through old journals, and I realized that I am missing one. An entire journal. More than 116 pages, by far. My journal from junior/senior year of high school is completely missing. I am sick over it. I have scoured every remaining box in the garage. (As a plus, I have stumbled upon several hundred more pictures, giving me more work to do in organizing. And more reminiscing.) But it is nowhere to be found.

I don't know what to do. It's not like there is some pressing reason I need this journal. But I need to know where it is. I need to remember who I was in 2001 and 2002. I need to know what I thought, and what made me happy, and what boy I liked. (You know it's inevitable that information would be written in its pages.) I NEED to find that journal. But it's gone.

Maybe it was lost in one of our many moves. Maybe it's gone to heaven - the same place the socks go when they mysteriously disappear from the dryer. I don't know. But I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want my writing to go to waste. I don't want there to be a big 2-year hole in my life's record. I keep praying it will appear in one of the boxes, and maybe the 48th time I look, it will just be sitting there on top. I keep hoping it's not really gone forever.

If I don't find it soon, I will be SERIOUSLY disappointed.

1 comment:

Jenks Family said...

I've always been a journal keeper as well. I'd absolutely HATE it if I realized one was missing. It's so fun to look back at stages in your life and see the funny things you wrote about, boys you had crushes on, and how much you've grown. My favorite journals are those when I was dating, engaged to, and married to my hubby, but they are all priceless. I have something funny I want to write here, but I will spare you and any others who read this comment. :)