Here we go again

Apparently I've always worked through difficult things with words, numbers,
pen, pencil, paper; I'm not sure why it seems so different now. Perhaps it's
because this is the first time i've ever done it publicly.

I found an old notebook the other day. I started it just prior to my Grandma
[Mom's] death. For those of you reading this unaware, my Grandparents
adopted me. My Grandfather passed away when I was 5...my Grandma when I was
15. It effectively left me an orphan. I had to move in with my Mom. I also found her body and had to notify people. I remember bits and pieces. Fragments float around in my
head. Finding that note book made me wonder what I was doing. How I had
changed...who was I then. I wondered if I would read it and recognize the
girl behind it. It was like a flood. I saw her, I heard her, but I saw the
pain and isolation from new perspective... that of a Mother, a friend, a
pain fired "grown up?". I could remember the emotions...I could hear the
echos of songs, friends, things long past. I may have grown, yet I am
today's confused child of tomorrow.

I know that I know nothing at all. I will never have a road map and today's
struggles are tomorrow's solutions. It's definitely humbling to know that I
have absolutely no clue about anything....so I will continue to write about
nothing because tomorrow when I read it, I will be astonished at the
ignorance or amazed at the insight.

If I spelled it wrong...my hands are
screwy...I won't be hard on myself