I almost feel bad for what I'm about to do. I've been recently looking for a journal to keep all my thoughts in so that my posterity may learn something about who I was and what I felt during this time in my life and in history. I went to the BYU Bookstore and looked for a journal once. I found them and picked one or two that I liked, but had no money, so I said "I'll wait til the next payday." Sorry, kids, you won't get any of my memories until the heat comes through. Then, when I went back after I got paid, they had moved everything around and the section in the Bookstore labeled "Journals" had turned into the "Gerald Lund" section. I thought of buying one of the Work and the Glory books and just writing "Journal" on it and calling it good, but decided to come back another time. I've been back a few times. Still just works and glories. So, I will have to get some of my emotions out into an electronic text box. It feels dirty, somehow, though.
I just wrote a really long detailed entry, but I suppose the main point I was getting at would be better represented in a line from my good friend Ben Gibbard:
I fall in love everyday
And I feel like a fool
That's the gist of this post. I'll save you all from experiencing the icky vicky details I had expounded upon in the words I erased. And I am far too embarrassed to say anything more.
