Greetings my antiquated friend


In this computerized age where the measure of wisdom is 140 characters I still keep a handwritten journal. Pedestrian handwriting. No backspace button. I’m superstitious about losing my callous on my left hand middle finger.

I’m not as faithful to my quaint friend as I’d like to be. Sometimes she becomes a boring list of three good things that happened that day. If I write in the morning she’s a dream journal. Lately she’s my bitching sheet just before falling asleep, the last words turning into gibberish scribble and trailing off…

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