I don't think well when I'm tired. That's a pretty good excuse for anything that happens here that the alert me would not approve of.

I've never journaled like this before. I have friends who, because of the nature of my thoughts, suggested I do what they do…write, but never ever look back at what I've written. I'm still trying to figure out a good place to keep something like that. I can't read it, other people shouldn't read it, and I may have a hard time passing away if my time was to come suddenly, knowing that's out there!

No. Actually, no I wouldn't. Because that journal is my shed skin.

If I was a happy, healthy, loving person who was always courteous to others, smiling or graciously sharing my feelings, and showing affection and patience towards my children, what would they think if they read how disappointed I was in my dad for not knowing my kids even though he lives 10 minutes away? Or how I was ashamed to be a part of my mom's family? Or how confused, angry, and crazy I sounded because my husband was in the basement snorting heroin? Or how afraid I was?

What would they think about me then?