After spending a week at an ultra-modern loft in Boston, I have been tackling the clutter in my house. Not that that 'cleaning' will last long; I seem to be a person who clutters.

Papers, books, magazines and clothes. Everywhere.

I've been going through room by room and feeling very liberated in throwing out boxes of old papers, and taking piles of old linens to Goodwill (why was I saving threadbare blankets and yellowed pillows anyway?).

I came across one of my first handwritten diaries -- ahem, journals. Compared with the composition books I now use, this one was tiny, 3 by 5.5 inches, with an embossed "1989 DIARY" on its front cover.

I remember deciding to switch to composition books so I wouldn't feel so constrained by such tiny journal sizes and being grateful for undated pages that meant I didnt' feel guilty for neglecting a daily entry.

But there's some things to be said for this old diary. As I read back over the entries, the writing seemed more concise.

January 29: JDR&P (Work): Light fluff to fill in the day between 9 & 5. They pay me $7.50 an hour to put yellow stickers on any piece of paper containing the word "Roadway". What a lucrative career! Still... "a wonderful experience." Some of the people I work with: Theresa, Darrilyn, Elouise, Marion, Christie and our supervisor Barbara (who knows my parents).

On this day I would have really left Philadelphia (without knowing it) for Cleveland. Also: Len's 29th birthday.

I was feeling very philosophical on May 6:

It is easier to believe in the concept of 'God' as I've been brought up to believe rather than taking time to think about 'the collective higher consciousness' which I have an easier time believing, but cannot pinpoint as clearly with my imagination. I suppose that the non-challenge of religion is what stunts humans' intellectual growth.

The practicality and concentration of refinishing the side table is much more fulfilling / satisfying than thinking about the tortures of why I cannot find a job right now. Am I to learn anything?

Whew!

At the end of the year, I began finding entries marked from 1996, the Dark Year. Here was a 'lighter' one from November 2:

Woke up at 11am and after walking the dogs, walked to King Soopers to buy milk. A beautiful fall day. Input some research on Rushville into the computer and played some games. Listened to Soundgarden -- a lot. Took a bath and would go to bed early but found 'Gone With The Wind' on TV and stayed up to 2am to watch. Next segment next weekend.

Here at the duplex ten years later, the living room floor gleams, all the books and magazines stacked neatly onto shelves; two books of music are open as if ready to play at the piano in the Dining Room; white appliances and green plates catch the late afternoon sunlight in the Kitchen; and I sat reading this diary on the daybed in the guest bedroom.

Too bad I'm probably moving soon, but isn't that always the case?

Tuesday, May 23, 1989: Got up at noon. Drove to both RIT and UR to pick up summer school schedules. Expensive. Nice campuses both. Then spent afternoon at the Margaret Woodbury Strong museum - this woman began collecting only the last 20 years of her life and probably bought every item at every flea market around. Finally, got Mike, my 'leasing consultant', to drive to my apartment and unloaded my stuff into a large closet. Noisy neighbors, yukky apartment. Looks like a hotel room, but much better than Len's place in Upper Darby. Oh well. Mike said he'd help me if I wanted to know about 'going out'. Hah, I'll bet!