So begins the search anew.

Years ago, I wrote a story and loved it from the very beginning. When I first thought to take my words from the traditional page to the new age of InterWeb and online, this story was first and foremost.

However, it was posted to a site to which I no longer have access. It was also two and three computers ago, so now I’m only left with composition books. So instead of just searching for the one, I will use this forum to transcribe and re-create what’s inside the six books.

I put numbers on them, but only hope to start with Book 1 since I didn’t seem to number it or it is gone to wherever anything you actually want but can’t find tends to go.

So here we go…

I want this to be something that I possible can’t make it into. I want this to be my unconscious thought. I’ve written before this way, ideas flowing from my mind to the pen (or pencil).

No interruptions. That’s a huge thing. To stop is to almost open another door, stepping through or closing the previous one. It can’t be good for this type of writing. What am I saying, I have no idea what is good for type of writing.

I think therefore I am. Someone said that long ago and you learn about it in school, but does it really mean anything. What defines thinking? A lot of stupid people think all the time and they stay stupid. Why are stupid people allowed to continue.

I’m sorry, I digress from my original point, which – upon further review – is lost even to me. Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for…

I want this to be some kind of journal, a diary – but not in the sense of some 15-year old girl who keeps it underneath her bed, away from her parents. I just want to record my thoughts, my dreams, my beliefs. Purely because I want to look back at them and wonder what I was thinking at the time.

People’s ideas and thoughts change like the weather. Without something as a guideline, who knows what to think. I think the guidelines that have been instilled into us are all wrong. I should know, I’m dating a teacher.

See, there goes one of my major problems. There are so many thoughts, ideas tha I want to get out that I feel as if sometimes I force them. That’s why I must write more.

The more I grow old, the more I realize I’m losing contract with everyone. My close friends I’ve kept close, but the outside world seems so distant right now. I used to be a social butterfly, avoiding main streets to avoid contact.

Backstreets and alleyways, I always used to say. I still see too many people when I ‘m out. Faces from the past, old friends that I’ve lost contact with. It doesn’t bother me as much when I turn away, hide my face or avoid their glances. I don’t feel wrong doing this, just alone…