I was sixteen or seventeen years old, drinking coffee in my habitual diner. I scrawled into my journal, as the waitress came by to refill my cup of diner-strength (read weak) coffee. She asked if I was keeping a diary. When I told her yes, she smiled and said, “That’s so...
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Tuesday, May 12, 2015
10 Important Life Lessons I’ve Learned From Reading My Past Journals
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