For the first time in 2 years, I've brought stuff home from work to do. I have 3 books I'm reading concurrently, sitting on their pages where I've stopped, lying haphazardly on the unused half of my bed. Yesterday's paper is in my briefcase, neatly folded and untouched.
And yet I am browsing past entry upon past entry, in here. Cringing and Chuckling.
Mostly Contemplating.
Is there anything else left unsaid?
Labels: Memories