I went down memory lane with Lorraine this morning when she found my journal + doodle book. I haven’t written much; the last one was in 2005. It’s actually been 2 years. Nearly 2 years since my 21st birthday, when they caught me unawares with the surprise dinner. We were both reading what I wrote and laughed like crazy. You must think it’s weird for me to share my written, supposedly sacred thoughts with her. Well, it wasn’t. I read hers and she read mine. A swap. I haven’t had this much fun since… last night. We laughed at my naivety, at her first crush in the hospital (who happened to be the shy hobbit), my Charlie B, her stint in shadowing the doctor… Has it been that long ago?
Then I remembered the painting she did for me. A house at the edge of the wood. One of the best gifts ever. There’s even a small inscription at the back which I’ve all but forgotten. Something about being young forever, friends till the end. Or something. It’s hanging on the wall now.
Why am I all mushy…?
Maybe it’s the after effects of calling my parents.
