Rereading my posts, I am reminded of a friend I had long ago. I let her read my journal. Back then, I wrote every day. By hand, if you can imagine it! Pages every day! My fingers hurt just thinking about that work. A few times, I begged the last of my mother's change to take the bus to my friend’s house. We would talk for some time, then she would put on a movie and, after our conversation had died down, she would read what I’d written. I met her at an award ceremony for one of the academic competitions I was involved with in high school (she was from a different school.) She came up to me and grabbed my hand. I had very long, natural nails. They were painted a wonderful burgundy. The next day, someone I knew at my school that knew her asked for my phone number. I didn’t have a phone then. Old habits die hard, I guess. At least I have electricity now, and better food, even if I have trouble eating it. She got in contact with me anyway. There are many stories I could tell, but I’ll save those for later. I was just asking myself why people want to read diaries and journals and such.