I still remember how excited I was when I read a description of Doris Lessing's the Golden Notebook--the book was decribed as a book about a woman with the separate parts of her lives described in different notebooks--and in the end, the she realizes that the different parts of her need to be woven together in one, golden notebook. I thought to myself--that's Me--I"m all these different people--I write parts of myself in different notebooks, but never tie them all together in one. Even this journal--The Most Basic Me, is not truly me...its the "mostly clean, Mommy, emotional" journal. I have a sexual journal, a traveling blog, and a confessional/keep it real journal.

Of course, reading the book was a disapointment, partially because somehow I expected the woman to Be me...to be like me and her life was totally different and in places so foreign I couldn't even understand her.

I'm writing this at 4:30AM, second night in a row I've woken at 4 and been unable to sleep. I think it might be the medicene I'm taking for my cold...oops, Phoebe's awake...I'll have to try and finish this later.
  ¶ 4:28 AM