When I was 21: I wrote in my Journal, Like My Daughters 

    I read some from it this morning, to my wife, before she swam. It helped her achieve a couple of moments of unconsciousness, also known as sleep, as she said that she had been up or awake since 3:00 am.

    "Are you awake?" Pause. "Yes, I am."

    Okay, I think. My words have their effect. I am glad to give her brain a little respite, relax.

    I wrote some poetry, or flowing words of sorts, in January and February of 1992, or 2000-8, as I called it. My journal I filled in about 10 months, the ones following my two-year mission.

    Little was I to know that I would marry my future spouse in the year 2000. Two thousand. Conan O'Brien and their show celebrated it, back in the earlier 1990s, like me counting down to the millennium. 

    25 years later, I am re-reading it, this compendium of thoughts and feelings. My wife had read from her journal from 1997 and 1998, when she had moved to Washington D.C. and Las Vegas, Nevada. She went there in April 1998, a question that I had wondered for many years. Some dates are not quite solid to her. Like when she graduated high school, or her age when her father left her home. 1991, 1992, 1993... Or 1994. 

    Admittedly, many memories and even dates get hazy in my mind, in my memory banks. I am sometimes surprised what I have forgotten. Such is life. I have reasons, many reasons, to memorize more things in the now, the present, and there are many things that I have failed to learn verbatim. Like the exercise commands of the Army. It cost me, only last summer. June of 2024. Ugh. Cost me chances to promote one more time.

    Like my failures of 2018. Not the greatest year, not the worst. It turned into much worse for some I know, so I could not have space for too much complaint. Must be grateful, I knew.

    I know that.

    So, that is a surmisal of the life of me over thirty years, well over thirty years.

    Time moves on.

A capture of one poem from January, 1992? 23rd of January (2000-8).

    "Hundreds of pages

        

     Through the ages

     Have confounded the sages

    While soul cages

    Ages and ages of many, many years "

    I penned a line, and wrote about the above. Investigating myself, my thoughts, my life.