This was supposed to be the year of the marvelous journal. I went to London this year. I'm dating the most wonderful man I could possibly ask for. Is everything just too good to write about? Can I only write when I feel wronged or hurt? Is 2009 too much of a perfect year to have anything to say? I feel horrible about my journal and I am seeking refuge in my blog, who can't possibly love me as much as my journal. Journal and I have been together consistently since I was 13, I only met you, blog, in London and this is scarcely my third or is it my forth entry. While I contemplate whether or not Journal will take me back I will take solace in trace Trafalgar's Tablet, which like my dear Journal no one reads.
