I hate the word blog.

But here I am regardless. In my quest for everlasting optimism, I started jotting down one thing I am grateful for about each day in a small memo book. Sometimes it's a stretch to think about, but most of the time I'm deeply humbled and taken back by my indecision.

If you know me, you know I have a few overwhelming (and sometimes very irrational) fears. The first is losing my memory. The second is losing some sentimental possessions in a fire -- my journals, my box of Polaroids and lastly, my baby blanket. I fear this because my dozen or so journals are my history, and I'm obsessed with nostalgia and reminiscing. Also, secrets. Wow, secrets. Tangible proof of the people I love are in the box of Polaroids. And my baby blanket warms my heart more than kittens. (You think being a blanket it'd keep me physically warm, too, but nope, too worn out for that).

Anyway, the Internet is fireproof.

But enough of that. I'll try to make this just as daily as the memo book, but it might take some time, like most things, until it becomes absolute habit. I'll start with one thing I was grateful about today.
I'm grateful for my father, who this evening as talked his ear off about my barista joys, art ideas, love of print media and relentless cell phone phone tag with friends, never once acted uninterested in what I had to say.