Dear Journal

It's been a while, dear journal.  Hasn't it.  My punctuation's rusty.  My hand's shaky so that the letterforms are wild and a little all over the place.  And the lead in my pencil keeps slipping.  I can just vaguely, just barely, recollect the last time I'd been writing in Holy Guacamole.  It brings me back, and on this day under the weather, I'd forgotten the utility of a good old-fashioned Mexican sweat.  The feeling's coming back though.  I'm pleasantly anxious for the future.  With wide sweaty eyes.  I love it.