Identity Theft

My eyes popped awake at noon today with the bone chilling realization that my beloved journal is MISSING. Last time I saw it was a week ago after my big job interview. At the time, I was so happy and hopeful that I would receive the position that I treated myself to lunch at one of my favorite restaurants the Mediterranean Café. I was writing in my journal while waiting for my food to arrive, but once that delicious meal was presented in front of me, none of my physical belongings seemed to matter. I was floating so high on good food and the possibility of new employment that I could of quite easily left a bag of cash at the restaurant.

That journal meant so much to me, but I suppose I do take it for grated, completely ignoring it for months at a time, then coming back to it with emotional fury when I feel like my world is about the collapse. I started it in October of 2004, so it has nearly a year and a half of my identity locked up inside of it, along with the details of three of my most “exceptional” relationships. I’m simply not ready to share the true details of who I am with anyone. I mean this blog is great and is probably the closest I’ve ever come to revealing who I really am to the world, but it’s not the same. This blog is a polished and embellished representation of who I think I am with humor and exaggerations weaved in throughout to overshadow the truth. That journal, however, never shined or made jokes in the hopes of amusing anybody. It was like the raw ore that sits deep underground, beautiful, yet never expecting to see the light of the sun.

I was going to save that journal forever and read it when I turned 82 so I could laugh at how ridiculous I was, but now that may not be possible. And even though I'm upset that I may never be able to get it back, the strange thing is that I can’t stop smiling because the once nauseating idea of someone reading my journal seems invigorating now that it may actually be happening. Yet regardless of how invigorating it may be, I still I want it back, so wish me luck as I retrace my footsteps, trying to find the solemn remnants of my identity that fell from my body the moment I dared to be happy.