This week has been marked by tragedy. My journal is missing.

Ok, so you all know me and know that I sometimes say things that are a bit on the dramatic side, but I am being completely honest and fairly rational when I say this is the saddest thing that has happened to me in a very long time.

I started (serious, committed) journaling in 2005. Since then I have really come to cherish the little books that are my testimonial. You know the question, "if you are stranded on an island and you can have one thing it would be..." or "if your house was on fire and you could bring one material thing with you ..." Hands down, I would choose my journals. It is on those perfectly blank pages that I find most freedom to express my ideas. There is no need for correct grammar, flow, sentence structure... anything really. I can do whatever I want - have any opinion - in my journal and no one gets to know. And, no one gets to tell me that what I'm feeling is wrong or I should approach a situation in a different way... or whatever.

I know that the loss of this journal is not the loss of journaling. But, it is the loss of a year's worth of knee-jerk reactions, deep reflection and sweet anticipation. I wrote about my first days as a nurse in this journal, my first (professional) experience with death. The overwhelming joys of meeting my first nephew. The nervous excitement that came with moving into my very own apartment. Gosh, even the thrill of watching our nation's first African American President take office. To not have my written memories of all that is so.... sad.

Normally when something like this happens, I would journal about it. But, since that isn't an option right now I will blog. And, I can say with confidence that blogging is really second best.