Hi. I'm Kate.

I have always been an avid journal keeper. It was somewhat of an obsession with me as I was growing up. My mom gave me my first diary when I was 11. It made me feel all grown up and secretive. The diary was blue with a picture of Snoopy on the front. It was truly one of the best gifts I ever received.
I'm not sure what made me such a faithful writer but every night before I went to sleep I would write about my day. I was convinced that my hum-drum life might have some significance one day. I was positive that even though I was only 11, I might stumble across the answer to one of life's big questions. I looked at myself as a historian of sorts and took my writing very seriously. I mean VERY seriously. We're talking matching the color of ink I used to the color of my mood. That is way serious for an 11 year old girl.
I was faithful with my writing all thru my high school years. I still wrote during college but not as often. Then I got married and my writing really slowed down. I got older and older and life did not spare me of some pretty crappy moments. That's when my writing ended. My precious history got boxed up and shoved in the back of a closet.
I found that box the other day. I sat down and started thumbing thru volumes and volumes of my thoughts. Some of it made me cringe (was I really that big of a dork?). Some of it made me laugh (yes I was that big of a dork). Some things made me laugh; others made me cry. Most importantly, reading my own words made me remember that I loved to write. And maybe there was a good reason that I kept all of those old diaries. Maybe I will learn something from myself if I reread them from the beginning to the end.
I suspect this will be embarrassing and somewhat incriminating. I hope I will learn some things about myself. I hope there will be readers that follow me thru this journey. Maybe just maybe I can help myself and others too by doing something that I enjoy, writing.
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