November 3, 1997
Nostalgia. From my viewpoint, everything is ephemeral. Teen years, college, childbearing--all fleeting. This trip through life is more and more like an express train. If I am going to do anything meaningful, I’d better hurry. Looking at my mother’s old fashioned photo on the dresser, I realize it must be even more like a fairy tale to her than it is to me. I don’t recognize the face I see in the mirror. It’s like Halloween every day. Luckily these thoughts don’t stay with me. They came with the box of old writings.
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