The other night Kim and I were searching my car for my Fiona Apple CD (which we never did find) and came across one of those little locked diaries in a pocket on the back of the passenger seat. I don't remember putting it there, but my sister and I must have found it in Grandma's basement, not been able to open it there, so brought it out to open later. Then we must have promptly forgotten about it.

So Kim and I get it open and it was my mom's! We read it, she wasn't too incredibly wordy. It was the diary she kept when she would have been 20. She wrote about concerts she went to and how she wrote a letter to one of the Monkees. (Hilarious, Kim remarked that my mother must have stolen her life from Marsha Brady.) She was very boy crazy too, it's so weird to think of my mom at age 20.

It's also weird that someday I might have kids and they might read the things that I'm writing now. That is a scary, scary thought. Ah well, imaginary kids, if you're out there, I guess the cat's out of the bag, your mother is crazy.