On this Day (sorta)

I’ve been keeping journals for, as I discovered today, 20 years now, almost to the day. I thought it might be interesting to take a peek back and see what kinds of things were on my mind on all the April 30th’s I’ve enjoyed so far in this life.

I wasn’t diligent enough to write every single day of my life, of course, so I’m giving myself a little leeway and choosing the day closest to April 30 that I wrote. Some of the names will be changed in order to maintain my delusion of privacy. I will not fix misspellings or grammar. This is going to be seriously long (which I don’t feel bad about since I haven’t been writing much lately), so maybe grab some coffee or come back and read over time. Or don’t read it at all. It’s your life. For frame of reference, I was 10 years old in April 1990.

April ?, 1990
Hi. I probably wouldn’t be writing in you if Mom, Dad, and Rob hadn’t started discussing something that’s none of my beeswax. This makes me feel guilty. I don’t know why, but it just does. I feel sorry for Robbie, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s his problem, but I always take his side in my head. When I’m asked for my honest opinion, I tell them. Usually they don’t like it, and then I feel really guilty. But what I want to know is why? I guess more than this journal can help me figure this guy out. Tonight C and L are coming here, because a sitter backed out of their job at the last minute. So naturally they called us to take them. Well, they’ll only be here for an hour and a half, tops, including delays. Today, since we had an unused snow day, we had no school. But Mom and Dad did. So, of course, we went to Mrs. K’s house. Actually, we didn’t do much. But we still had fun. We played two games. “Pictionary” and “Scattergories,” I think. But, it was a really great day. I finished reading my book, and played some really good games on the computer. They have an Apple IIE. I played “Hollywood Squares,” “Classic Consentration,” Jepardy,” “Wheel of Fortune,” “Loadrunner,” “Donkey Kong,” and “Create with Garfield.” I would have played “Car Builder,” but there wasn’t enough time. Going to K’s has turned from a nightmare to exciting… very exciting. Now I can’t wait until I go again, which I hope will be soon. K104 is having this awesome contest every 1/2 hour, that you get a phone call, and you have to say the “phrase that pays.” That phrase is, “K104 plays a better mix of continuous hits.” If only they would call me… oh well, I gotta go. Robbie won’t stop bugging me, and I don’t want him to see this. I’ll be writing ya!

April 28, 1991
Long time, no write! Actually, it seems longer than it has actually been. We did so much this last week! Monday we spent cleaning, Tuesday gardening, Wednesday I went to Melanie’s house, Thursday cleaning, Friday shopping, and yesterday and today at Aunt Dee and Uncle Louie’s in Long Island! Aunt Dee and Uncle Louie and Stacy and Adam are all doing great. We might get a bird from their neighbors in July when they come up to visit us. Her name is Petey, and she talks. I hope we can have her! Guess what! When we got home, we went into the living room to find the wierdest sight. One of the sliding glass doors was all cracked on the outside, but the screen door that was closed in front of it wasn’t even touched! But nothing was missing, so that’s OK. I’ll be right back. I have to clean my room. I’m back! Jenna’s birthday is tomorrow and I thought of the perfect birthday present for her. It’s nothing big, but I thought of taking a tape (cassette) and singing “Happy Birthday” together, and then copy “Happy Birthday’ by New Kinds on the Block. That would be really neat. I’ll tell more when I write again! Today’s grade: B- See ya! Me

April 30, 1992
Ever since I wrote that, I’ve tried to miss him again, but unsuccessfully. On Tuesday night I prayed to God for help in many things & I know that Dad’s spirit was in the room with me (for a split second) because an image of him (as I remember him) came into my mind and a tingle went through my body that was him trying to comfort me by putting his arms on my shoulders. In that split second I was warm & secure, yet scared because this was a new sensation. It felt strange but I really liked it. It’s strange, but there was someone behind me at the time (probably my image of Dad) but I didn’t look back because I knew something good was going to happen & I didn’t want to scare him away. I really loved the sensation. That was the night I wrote the last entry. I wanted his real alive arms to be comforting me one last time & to spend one last day together & to really feel the love we’d both been holding back our whole lives. Enjoy the relationship we never really had. The tears came to my eyes with that sentence, yet they didn’t get out unfortunately. But at least it was something & I’m grateful to God for that. On a lighter note, (kinda) (not really) (I tried) (well this is light) Mr. M was away at Project Adventure so he wasn’t at school. But I found out about one of my test grades. It’s the lowest grade I ever got in math. It was a 30. When I’m done with the test (I have a tutor in math), I’ll put it in here so I’ll always have it. Maybe he’ll let me take it over. Not that I even care. Anyway, I’m really tired & it’s bedtime anyway so I’m going to sleep. ❤ ya! Cait 🙂

April 27, 1993
It’s really hard for me to write in this journal without thinking that someday someone’s going to read this and find out some of the wierd, stupid, and scary thoughts that I think about. My point is that I find myself coding what I write so no one will question my feelings if and when I show this to someone, or when they read it without my permission. My decision at this point is just to write what I’m thinking and/or feeling at the moment and be absolutely positive that no one can get to this book. Maybe someday I’ll be well enough to let other people know what I used to be like. There are times when I wish I could just fall asleep and just not wake up for a few days. No one would worry – they’d all know I’d survive and that I was just on a vacation from life. That would be so perfect. My only fear is what if I decide that I don’t want to come back? Maybe that would be ok too. Other people would have to deal with the fact that whether or not they’re ready for me to go, I am. I wonder if that’s what Dad said when he died. I still become amazed when I realize that Dad is gone forever. It still seems like he’s just gone for a while. I hate being thirteen. It’s like… you’re no longer a child, you’re definitely not an adult, there’s nothing in between, therefore, you’re nothing. I can’t wait until I’m 18. I’ll be an adult in most people’s eyes and people might start accepting me again. I have to study for social studies and start science. I’ll be back again, unless I find my dream world tonight. Good-bye.

April 13, 1994 [1994, 1995, and 1996 were lost forever when I lost one of my journals in a move after high school – pity, too, because they had my impressions of first love in them. I have just this one item from 1994 left from those years.]
I can remember his gentle touch and his warm kiss goodnight. I was truly happy, although I might have thought otherwise. And then, oh, and then he was gone. I watched him under the ground but felt him above me. I have not forgotten him, even though now there is someone else standing in his place. My only consolation is knowing I will always have the memory of that gentle touch and warm kiss and that this new man will never be able to replace that. I loved him and I still do.

May 3, 1997
It’s been a while since I’ve written in here. I haven’t really had anything to say. No great realizations or anything. I’ve just been in a haze for the last couple of weeks. Since I don’t really know what’s going on with my emotion, I’ll just write about the existential part of my life. Work has been interesting this week. Sunday I worked in Arthursburg and it took us an hour to get the door open because none of our keys worked. Finally Mike had to come with his own set of keys and the might of his masculine body to slam the door open. I didn’t get to see him open the door, but I almost wish I had. It must have been an interesting sight. Then on Tuesday, Peggy & Mike showed up in Stormville and actually put some time into the store, changing movies to category movies and giving us some Hopewell reject movies. Then on Wednesday the police followed me into the store because the alarm had tripped 3 times that day. He pulled his gun out and everything. (I was really impressed by his gun.) Well, all that was in the store was a mosquito, but pulling a gun on a mosquito takes guts too, I suppose. Then today I found the real culprit for tripping the motion sensor. A mouse. It disgusted me, for a few reasons. First of all, the mice do not pay rent, and neither do the spiders or flies. Second of all, what would have happened if a customer had happened to see that vile thing dart into the wall? Third, what if it was rabid? Fourth, it was an unpleasant reminder that I work in a hell-hole that is caked with dirt and grime from 1982. If the Board of Health were to do an inspection, the store would probably be condemned. So I wrote a letter to Peggy, telling her all of what I just wrote and adding that I am willing to come in extra days to help cleaning up the store. I also think the store could be more presentable, but I don’t know if Peggy is willing to spend the money on the appearance of the store, like for painting the walls, etc. I’ll ask and offer my services, but I’m not paying for the supplies. I just can’t stand working there with conditions the way they are. Also, if the store looks better, more people might come to rent from us. I can’t tell Peggy how to run the store, but if something doesn’t change, I’m going to have to find another job. Stormville is really wearing on me. Anyway, that was basically everything of interest that happened this week. I wonder what next week has to offer…?

April 28, 1998
I have to complain; I just don’t want to complain to anybody. I have a paper to write and it’s nearly midnight, but I’m not too worried about that because it’s about the Yankees and I’m not even tired yet. I have to complain about my mouth. I have these two incredibly painful cold sores in my mouth and they hurt more than anything I can remember. They might never go away – at least that’s how it seems; I’m in my third day of agony now. The second thing I have to complain about is my damn pimples. I hate them, they know it, but they refuse to go away. Once I manage to kill one, another one pops up. I can’t do much more than I already am – I wash my face twice a day and coat it daily with triple antibiotic, AND I’ve given up chocolate and sugar in my war against my zits. It’s been a losing battle my whole life and I’m more than a little frustrated. The third thing I have to complain about is the fact that the Yankees lost tonight and ended their incredible winning streak. The good news is that Boston and Baltimore also lost tonight, so they’re still in first place. It’s just upsetting to me that they ended their great streak. Other than that, though, my life is perfect (relatively speaking, that is). Good night.

April 25, 1999
It is a really nice day today. I’m sitting here at Battery Park, listening to the Yankees game. I feel very relaxed. After the week I’ve just had, I deserve a break. Since I last wrote, Melissa never showed up for room selection and now we are no longer roommates. I blew my Spanish dialogue as well as my journal for IMC. I moved my bed into the living room. There was a horrible shooting in Denver on Tuesday. Two high school students killed 14 people and then themselves. That had me pretty upset. All I could think of was what if it had been Rob that was killed? So that was depressing. But this weekend has been really nice. Friday night I went to CBGB’s with Kevin to see some real hard-core death metal bands and that was a lot of fun. It wasn’t something I’d do every weekend, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Then yesterday, Kevin came over for breakfast and we went to a Yankees game with Anne, Andy, and JT. After the game we went out to dinner at this little Italian restaurant in the Village. All in all, it’s been a great weekend. Now here I am in Battery Park, enjoying the afternoon. Tonight I’m going to dinner with Josh and then we’re going to see Helen’s show at Tisch. I better head back now. I’m supposed to meet Josh in about 20 minutes and I don’t want to miss him. I hope my night goes as well as the rest of my weekend…!

May 5, 2000
I’ve gotten very bad about writing in here every day. I guess you could say I’ve been a little busy and preoccupied. Well… I’m leaving [Italy] in five days and I’m just not ready.

April 30, 2001
I am getting to be consistently bad about keeping up with my journal, which kind of makes me mad… though at what, I’m not entirely sure. I feel like there should be lots to say, but lately nothing has really seemed important enough to write about. Which is essentially a stupid thing to think because if all the little things make a difference in my life, then they are important. And anyway, important (or at least significant) things have been going on in my life. I just haven’t felt the urge to write about them. I am slowly feeling myself becoming more and more distant from my own thoughts and feelings; and while I am somewhat cognizant of that as well as the fact that it’s probably some sort of psychological defense mechanism, I am feeling no urge to do anything to change these circumstances. Nothing feels important, but they all say it is… I just can’t bring myself to partake in the festivities. It’s kind of this weird numbness that I’m too afraid to let go of… though why is something I cannot even begin to endeavor to answer.

So I’m up here in Ithaca, visiting Siggi… probably for what will be my last trip to Ithaca. I’ve been having a good time so far… going with the flow, doing my best to take in every moment for all it’s worth. I hope I’m not being a pushover, but it’s really nothing more than this incessant numb empty feeling manifesting itself in my lack of initiative to want to do anything. I have no suggestions – yet I feel light like a feather and I feel ready to go wherever the wind will take me. That seems a very hippie and spiritual Forrest Gump-like thing to say…

My thoughts (and actions) have also been very fleeting lately. I often find myself thinking about several things at once – or thinking about incredibly random things at odd times. The other night I was unable to go to sleep because I felt the need to contemplate the fate of the human race. The verdict on that one (in case you were wondering) was that we will inevitably wipe ourselves out. And one day some other species will evolve and try to figure out what monuments like Yankee Stadium might have been used for. Although the more I think about that, the more egocentric it seems… I am only able to imagine a human-like species taking over the Earth. But who knows. Maybe it will be humanity itself that undergoes the evolution to a completely new race. All I know is, things appear to be changing now at an increasingly rapid pace, and I think we are on the verge of a serious shift in thinking – or at least lifestyle. I’m not entirely sure that I’m prepared for that. So yeah – that consumed my thoughts for about an hour or so the other night and I couldn’t sleep because of it. That’s nuts.

I think what gets me the most is that my whole life really is changing before my very eyes and I cam too… too… I don’t know… depressed? Afraid? I’m not sure, but I’ve been too – ABSENT – to acknowledge it. I had my last day at CBS, I had my senior formal (I went with Kevin), and graduation is just around the corner. None of this feels like it’s sinking in. It doesn’t feel important. All I can think about is the fate of the human race, or whether the first trees to lose their leaves in the fall are also the same trees to first grow leaves in the spring… I think about who owns the most media companies and why. I think about cars and fish and sunlight. I think about where Montana is, and how I might get there (forget about why I’d want to go there in the first place). It doesn’t make sense to me. Nothing makes sense. And maybe it’s sensory overload with all that’s changing in my life and maybe I’m just finally losing my mind. Maybe my depression is eating through my psyche, pervading my emotional space, and making me numb, leaving me in this strange state of mental paralysis…

God, maybe it’s just real late at night and words are becoming louder than thoughts and sentences more powerful than emotions. Um, that has been known to happen to me once or twice in my life. The pen is an addiction for me; the words are side effect.

I don’t know what the answers are and a part of me is beginning to think I’ve lost sight of the questions. I don’t even feel the need for booze or drugs (though put me in front of a beer or any liquor and I won’t refuse – I could go strong all night). Nothing really feels good but on the same token I don’t feel bad. Is this happiness? Is it? Would I know it if it happened to me?

I definitely feel it, though. Somewhere out on the near horizon: The Change; and I think it’s gonna be a big one. I just hope I’m ready.

June 1, 2002
I had another journal for a while [now apparently also lost?] starting in March but it was bullshit, mainly on account of my life being little more than bullshit over the last few months. Sure, things happened: I went to Las Vegas and California, visited Dawn and Shannon, went to Wisconsin to visit Siggi, found an apartment to move into in Queens with Monica and her friend Jessica… lots has happened, and many of them have been good. But although I did enjoy a streak of happiness (contentedness is probably a better word) for about three weeks in April, I always seem to return to the same old crap. I spend all my money (literally) on a house that is infested with ants and spiders, has an oven that gets no cooler than 500F when turned on, a refrigerator that freezes my food, plumbing that allows for seven-minute showers in the morning (if I’m lucky), and that I’m never home long enough in order to see the good points of having my own place. I’m so sick of worrying about whether I have enough money to buy the Sunday newspaper or have a beer with friends. I’m really tired of my job, not to even mention all the shit I do that I haven’t been compensated for with even a thank you. I don’t have enough time, money, or energy to go out and make friends after work, and so when I actually DO have time, money, or energy, I have no one to spend it with. And I really want to take care of myself – get my face to clear up and shed some pounds from my ass and thighs – but I just can’t do it, or it’s so sporadic that my efforts don’t even make a difference. More than anything, I really want to have a boyfriend. I want there to be someone who understands who and what I am, accepts that, and loves me for all I am. And then I want to have sex with him for about two weeks straight. But I’ll admit that regardless of my sexual and hormonal impulses, what is most important to me is to have someone I can fall in love with who will likewise fall in love with me. I want someone to share my fantasies with, to create fantasies with, to have adventures with… and i see no prospects on the horizon; just lots of other couples getting more and more steady. I feel so lame. Not only is my face a galaxy of pimples, my love handles a jiggling mess, and my hair a scraggly mess, but I’m also the one who goes to the dance and stands alone all night. I keep waiting for my life to come together, even just for one minute. Every time I feel like I start to get settled, something else happens to fuck it all up. I’m tired, OK? I don’t have the strength or the emotional stamina to care much longer! I think that’s one of the hardest parts of moving this time… I am doing it completely alone. Not one single person is helping me. *sigh* I know that the things that are going on in my life are good things but it doesn’t make it much easier to handle. What I really want is to go somewhere for a day or a weekend and just recollect myself, catch up to myself. Maybe I could go hiking or camping, or for a long drive… it seems as though the long drive would have to take about six months to finish before I was back where I wanted to be, though. I wish I could just take off for parts unknown; have nothing but open road in front of me; no past and no future to follow me around everywhere I go. But always (as with virtually all my dreams and delusions), we come back to the main obstacle: money, i.e. that I have none. That really limits your options. I don’t know. Nothing I do seems to work. I always have plans and ideas (look for another job that pays more – and that I enjoy doing – being at the top of that list) but then it always comes back to the next two problems: time and energy. I don’t know how to get these three things balanced in my life. So far I haven’t even come close.

Well, that was one long bitchy paragraph but I needed to get it out of my system. I think now the only thing for me to do is go to sleep. Tomorrow I have a lot more packing to do (and probably even some actual moving) and I have to pay bills and I’d like to do some more thinking on how to go about working on some of what I’ve written about tonight. I still have the inkling, however, that all I’ve written are just symptoms of a bigger problem… but maybe to attack the larger issues, starting with the smallest ones will help. And right now I do believe that means going to sleep. Good night.

May 2, 2003
I had been doing well with my writing in spite of exhaustion and overload and then… I don’t know what happened. I’m starting to get frustrated with this constant exhaustion, though. I hate the apathetic feeling that comes along with it. In a way, apathy is nice since things don’t really bother me, but it’s double-edged because I also don’t care about good stuff. That’s frustrating.

I am so tired. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being busy all the fucking time. There is no end in sight, either. I want to cry but I can’t even muster up the energy to do that. I’m so far off the path I want to be on that I can’t even remember what that path was. I was accepted (as I expected I’d be) to the New School but now I don’t even want to do that. What’s the point? How do I even know that’s what I really want? It’s not worth my time and money if I’m not 100% committed to it. But I almost feel as though I owe it to Michael and Angie to go after they wrote such nice recommendations for me. I know that’s ridiculous because I owe it to myself to make the right choices for myself. I just wish I knew what the hell that was.

I’m pissed that I got blood on my new white quilt last night and it’s not coming out. 😦

Well, that was uplifting. Somehow, despite all the CRAP I am doing surprisingly well. Everything balances out somehow and I’m managing to stay afloat. I’m getting close to wanting to drown, though. I’m sick of constantly being on the verge of breakdown. That alone is exhausting. No one wants to be a burnout at the age of 23 and I feel as though I’m well on my way. I hope the answers come to me. I don’t know how much of this I’ve got left in me.

May 2, 2004
It’s late but I’m not in too bad a mood for once. I finally got a router for my computer so I’m hooked up in my bedroom. I’m happy that the weather is finally starting to improve.

I don’t really have anything to write about. That’s a lie. I’m just too tired to write about anything right now. Guess I’ll wrap up what I’m doing and go to bed.

April 26, 2005
Louise Hay has a theory that all illness is brought on by some kind of psychological trigger. So here I lay myself on the line:

Tonsillitis: Fear, repressed emotions, stifled creativity.
Sore Throat: Inability to speak up for oneself, swallowed anger, stifled creativity, refusal to change.

I don’t know if one would call tonsillitis a near-death experience but somehow I feel as though I’ve been given a second (third, fifth, nineteenth) chance at my life. It took probably thousands of tiny little bacteria attacking en masse to cause my tonsils to ooze with pus and my glands to swell to the point that I could breathe only through my right nostril (not even through my mouth) and only partially hear with my right ear. And it was only then that I started to realize what the value of my life was.

Over the past four months I have somehow allowed the stress of my expansive dreaming to overwhelm all the joy that such dreaming should bring. School was no longer a process of learning but instead a process of avoiding failure. Apartment hunting was not a new beginning but instead it was a series of brick walls which I continually smashed my face on over and over again, always achieving the same results, but always intent on trying again anyway. Friendships were not nurturing or enriching, but instead they were goldfish that needed to be fed once a day to keep them living. (And when my second goldfish died last Sunday, that analogy was that much harder to take.)

I lacked the grace to allow myself certain minor concessions. Instead I struggled to keep all the balls in the air at once, laughing deliriously in the face of gravity and the forces of nature. Well, all the balls fell at once, and they all landed on my face. And they were called tonsillitis.

I don’t know if Ms. Hay’s theory holds water or not but the symptoms in this case appear to fit the psychosis. So maybe I can learn something from this. Like, nothing should ever stress me out so much that I’m too tired to blog. And vacations don’t necessarily have to be to somewhere exotic and tropical. Sometimes the living room will do just fine. But it is the act of taking vacations that is important, and one must take as many as possible as often as possible for a healthy existence.

And for god’s sake, woman. Ease the fuck up on yourself, will ya? I know diamonds are formed under pressure but even they have breaking points.

My thanks to all who expressed concern and cared for me while I was ill. Especially the ones who allowed me to wipe my tears and snot on their t-shirts.

April 25, 2006
Water rushes past as I sit in the tree’s arm, leaning against its trunk.

No, I think, and I scribble the words from the page in my notebook. Water gurgles past as I sit in the crook of the tree’s arm, leaning against its trunk.

Sunlight filters through the thickness of leaves above me. Shadows dance beneath me. Glints of light flicker on the water like fireflies at dusk. A dragonfly beats its wings softly as it rests on the tree in front of me. I notice the way its body blends with the texture of the bark on the tree. Instinctually, I want to wince and flick it away, but instead I stare and admire its beauty. I wonder at its silence.

With wishes of peace to the Guzman family.

April 24, 2007


April 25, 2008
I was 12 years old.

I remember wandering around the house alone in the dark, gazing out the window at the flashing red and blue lights, mesmerized, wondering if the neighbors were watching the same lights out their own windows. I remember sitting on the hallway floor, bare toes clenching the brown shag carpet, knees pulled tightly to my chest, arms hugging my shins close, watching paramedics come in and out the front door with varying degrees of urgency. I tried to listen to what they were saying, to understand what was happening, to guess what would happen next. I knew before they told my mother. Before she screamed. No, moaned. She moaned.

Heart attack, they said, later, before the house filled with guests. Massive, it was.

One year I saw a medium who told me he’d said it had hurt. A lot. Like someone throwing a bowling ball at full force into his chest. And then he was gone.

I wonder what he would have to say if he knew I’m a runner now. Me, the girl who used to sit belligerently in the corner during gym class to show how stupid physical exercise was, now a runner. I wonder if he’d know he was part of the reason. That without trying, he taught me the value of a good heart.

This year I am running the American Heart Association’s Wall Street 5k run. I remember last year I watched wistfully as folks gathered at the starting line right in my office lobby. Last year I couldn’t run, or if I could run I’d been convinced otherwise by my doctors who’d discovered signs of intestinal hemorrhage brought on by distance running. This year I’m not letting the odds hold me back. This year I’m running the 5k. And I’m doing it for my dad, Robert L. Heller. February 14, 1942-February 5, 1992.

I wouldn’t be doing my duty not to ask for donations, but truthfully, the better thing to give is a pledge to do something good for your own heart. The weather is perfect for a long walk today. Or even a short walk around the block. Or maybe it’s time to dig out that old pair of roller blades in your closet. Repair that bike chain and get thee to the hills. Hike up that mountain or just down the road. Try your hand at kayaking. Today, take ten minutes to care for yourself. Do it for someone you love. Do it for me. Do it for your heart.

April 24, 2009
We head out tomorrow for our long-awaited cruise and we are both incredibly excited and all but crashing into one another in our frenzy to get ready to leave. In our minds are thoughts of: where are our passports, what books we need to bring to read by the pool, whether we have enough sunscreen, who is taking care of the fish and our plants, did we remember the luggage tags, buying shoes for the formal nights, how to pack, remembering extra pairs of contacts, breaking in our new Tevas, how many pairs of sneakers do we need, paying the rent and other important bills, remembering to bring a MetroCard for the ride home, figuring out what hotel we’re staying at in San Juan and then figuring out how to get there, printing out boarding passes, wondering which bathing suits to bring, digging out the formal purses for those nights we (well, I) need them, doing laundry, cleaning up the apartment, checking our flights, wondering whether 4 gigs worth of flash cards are enough for my camera, packing all the lenses, battery chargers, and accessories I may need for my camera while I’m there, wrapping up as much of the work I’m behind on at the office as possible, making sure all the right people have our emergency contact information (feeling grateful that the only way to reach us is by 900-number!), etc. etc. etc.

The only thing I know is that at this time tomorrow we should be taking off from JFK and heading to paradise (well, paradise by way of Atlanta, GA). By then all these swirling thoughts should be replaced with swirling swizzle sticks in my martini glass (you can drink martinis at 8am when you’re on vacation) and all the things I’ve been worrying about can just stay here in New York for a week while I enjoy a little of what life really has to offer.


One response to “On this Day (sorta)

  • Jenna

    I can’t wait to read this entire post when I have the time and space to do it. This is actually a very cool idea, one that I might emulate on my own blog from my own journals. Unsure how ‘open and transparent’ I’m willing to be with the world, though. You are brave, Caitlin. Brave.

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