Little Journals Everywhere

Little journals everywhere. That’s what I have. Half empty notebooks that tell partial stories and house incomplete thoughts.

I’ve only ever filled one journal from front to back, and it’s this thick, squishy one covered in a giant pastel cat that my dad gave me when I was five. Or maybe I was four. Either way, it was forty-ish years ago, and it moved with me from Alaska to Texas, by way of a brief stint in Kansas…