the Journal

THE JOURNAL July 5, 1986: Hello. Hi, I guess. I don't know how this is supposed to work. Or why I'm doing this. Or who this is even for. My mom says it's for no one. For myself. "It will do you some good to get your thoughts and feelings out" she says to me at dinner. Happy Birthday to me I guess. So this is to me. Me now. Future me. Hey, maybe someday my kids will dig this up and get a good laugh in. Who knows? Kids? Yeah, right. At least this stupid thing is better than what dad "got me." A hunting trip. He said my first buck is when I become a man. He made me shoot a deer today. I cried behind his back. If that's what it takes to be a man I have no interest in that. The rest of the day wasn't bad though. Chasing the dogs through the woods. Tackling them in the fog before they ran too far. That's enough for today. I really hope no one ever reads this thing. How do I sign off? I guess I just stop? July 6, 1986: