This past Wednesday is one I'd rather, soon forget. It started out normal enough, but the last 50% of the day just spiraled out of control. I cannot, for the life of me think straight, or write coherently at this moment, so please pardon any babble-speak. Notwithstanding every sucky thing that has happened between the times of 2-5pm, I cannot think of anything else but the following... A woman, a member and patron of the museum where I work has my journal! My thoughts, notes, words, from the last 2-3 months ! Violated... being read at this very moment by a stranger! Right now, my thoughts are scattered like cremated remains. They may not make any sense. Red wine, no tea, nothing can console me right now until I get it back. Knowing that voyeuristic eyes are reading my ramblings... as illegible as they may be. There was just so much going on at that point. I didn't realize it was even out of my tote bag and on the desk. It was just so busy, I didn't have time to put it away. Right after I returned from lunch, I got on the ball. This woman gathered up her things, my journal amongst them. She called me about 2 hours later. "Hi, I was just there and I purchased some books from your gift shop. I was just going through my bag and I found a book." "Oka-ay." I say, still not comprehending. "Well, the cover says, oh, I can't pronouce it, but I think it says Le soleeel..." "Oh my goodness!" I exclaim. "Le Soleil Toute: L'ANNE SUR LA COTE D'AZUR. And it has a woman, with her arms open, welcoming the sun!. That's my journal!" "Oh, well, I found it. " she goes. "It's got a list of words and some other stuff in it." Okay, it was at that moment that my heart palpitated at a cacophonous beat. She read it. I've written in code, but she read it nevertheless. My personal work day musings, my favorite words I try to make a point to utilize in phrases and conversations (yes I'm a hip geek and somewhat of an etomologist), doodles, sayings, staff notes, blog drafts. The eagerness she showed in vowing to return it ASAP, has suddenly receded at hearing the frantic tone in my voice. "Well, I wont make any guarantees. But I will try to return it, you know, depending on traffic and all." With that, the conversations pretty much ended. I stood there, feeling dismayed and wanting to just leave at that point. She didn't try hard enough, because she never showed up and I went home, and am still here, typing this blog entry in replacement of the one I'd drafted, without my work journal. Sitting at home, nursing this half a glass of Sicilian red. My mind racing with visuals of her... sitting at home... toes spread, bespectacled, holding a cup of tea... reading, deciphering what I've written over the course of about 2 months. I need another glass of wine! ...