For over 20 years, I kept a journal. I started in my early teens and stopped at around 40. These assorted notebooks fill a large wooden box, and my will specifies that the box and contents, if still around, are to be burned upon my death, and I AM NOT KIDDING.
These journals are often tales of woe. But they are also filled with the story of my life, and I’ve forgotten almost all of it. Read More