Page One

[Love Child]

This too I lie, for it is not page one, but page one hundred and fifty one probably. But really it may be page one of #9 or 10. The words to follow are all out of some books I kept and wrote in from the time I was 10 up until probably now.

April 27, Thursday 9:20 PM (The year is not included, but if I look on the previous page I see that I was 20)
I'm talking to my dad his voice is very deep he has a very norwegian accent I don't remember that before, its almost as if its not really him. I guess were just talking. What are you thinking Write down everything he says Info.

I closed that book and opened another:

 

[Love Child]

Page Two: (Different book) This seems to be around the year 2000. I open up to a page, of course it is this page. Who this was written for, or when it is written is unknown. Are some of these still true for today, well some yes, others not really and there are probably several to add to this list. I had not had thoughts about chicks yet, however it was slowly developing at this time.

Mirah's turn ons
1. Inserting your finger into my vagina
Hell, inserting anything into my soft juicy....
Especially while my clit is being stimulated
2. Kissing my neck, back, stomach, my hands
3. Allowing me to not have to have an orgasm
4. Having your cock in my mouth while you touch me,
having anything in my mouth while you touch me.
5. Watching you come, watching your body twich. Hearing you moan.
Watching you be turned on by me, by videos, whatever.
6. (Something about my ass being squeezed, touched etc etc )


Next. I will probably regret digging through these books. What the fuck lol. It was a random thought I had to tear out a page and send them to someone. I should just burn these.
Next page same book:

 

[Love Child]

I used to purchase journals on Christmas holidays. Each year I repeated the same pattern. I drove to the mall with the intention to purchase gifts for my loved ones, the crowd of the parking lot infuriated me, frustrated me, I couldn't imagine going inside. I would get all worked up about consumerism and the world. So I would end up driving to the nearest book store instead, purchasing a blank journal or notebook, having something to eat or drink possibly and sit and write. This was one of those times:

December twelve 1999

I just read a story in the newspaper about a runaway. She is safe @ home now. But maybe she couldn't have been so fortunate. Maybe I will write a latter to the columnist. Maybe I should tell her that all 15 year old girls are not that fortunate. Maybe I should tell her my experience. Maybe I should tell her that I hope too many young girls or boys do not read that and think, "Oh she is okay, I shall do the same"

Maybe I do not even know what time it is on a Sunday morning in Starbucks. The fear of Christmas shopping looms ahead of me. Maybe the ghost of Christmas shopping past and future shall visit me. Maybe I don't care anymore. Maybe I want to ask for assistance.

The sun came out somewhere between noon and two. The kind of weather that helps you to forget about the rain earlier that day.

I stopped in another shop after I was @ starbucks. Bought a scarf and went on to the Freemont Sunday Market.

The first thing I saw was a dresser for $100.00 There was also 2 nightstands $40 for both. Then I saw a smaller plainer dresser for $30 or $35. I shopped around some more, found a shelf with sliding doors that I can either put sweaters in or books. I put both. Its green. I also bought a silk shirt for $5.00 and a dress and a hat scarf.


*~*~*~**~
I still have that green dresser. (Everyone hates it) (It has lasted with me through several places, sometimes it holds dishes, now it holds grooming items such as shampoos, nail polish etc etc)
One time it held a TV.
I also still have the hat-scarf. It sits on my head and then wraps around my neck. It is wool. I rarely wear it, but I have worn it and always get compliments on it. I barely remember the silk shirt.
I laugh because it was Christmas and instead of buying gifts for anyone, I purchased things for myself, including the journal and green pen I used to write in it.